DFRAhfKTQOKJ 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SEA 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SEA, 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


a)''^  BY 

L   FRANK  TOOKER 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 

1902 


353? 


Copyright,  1902,  by 
THE  CENTURY  Co. 


Published  October,  IQO2 


THE  DEVINNE  PRESS 


TO 
EDMUND   CLARENCE    STEDMAN 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SEA 3 

'  HE    BRINGETH    THEM    UNTO    THEIR    DESIRED 

HAVEN" 7 

THE  LAST  FIGHT 12 

ON  GILGO  BEACH 18 

THE  RETURN 21 

BECALMED 24 

THE  VOYAGER 26 

HOMEWARD  BOUND 28 

THE  SEA-KING 30 

THE  RETURN  OF  THE  CAPTAIN 32 

THE  CAPTAIN  ASHORE 37 

THE  OLD  MAN 40 

THE  SECOND  MATE 47 

RAINY  TWILIGHT 52 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE  FLOWER  OF  LOVE 54 

THOU  AND  I 56 

THE  LOST  KINGDOM 58 

THE  HEART  OF  TRUTH 61 

"  DEAR  HEART,  WHERE  HAST  THOU  WANDERED?  "  64 

CONCERNING  ONE 66 

His  QUEST 67 

APRIL 69 

SONG 70 

SLEEP 72 

"  LOVE  ONCE  MADE  HIS  HOME  WITH  ME  "  .  .  .  73 

AN  IDEALIST 75 

A  SONG  FOR  THE  HOPELESS 79 

MY  CAPTAIN 81 

MARCH 83 

"WHEN  THE  LAST  HOUR  SHALL  COME"  ....  84 

THE  ROAD  WE  CAME  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  86 

NEAR  SUNSET 95 

INDIAN  SUMMER 96 


CONTENTS  ix 

PAGE 

IN  NOVEMBER    . 97 

A  WINTER  MORNING 98 

IN  SHADOW 99 

MARSYAS 101 

THE  DREAMER 103 

ONCE  WITH  DAPHNE 106 

THE  FLIGHT 108 

THE  STRAYED  REVELER no 

IN  MASQUERADE 112 

SIR  LAUNCELOT 113 

A  POET 115 

THE  FLIGHT  TO  THE  HILLS 116 

THE  MESSENGER 121 

CHIVALRY 131 

ULYSSES  GROWN  OLD 133 

ROMANCE 135 

THE  JOURNEY 138 

IN  EXILE 141 

IN  THE  SOUTH 142 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  SEA 


THE   CALL   OF  THE   SEA 

DAY  and  night  I  have  heard  it :  "  Arise  and  come  to 

thine  own! 
The  surf  is  loud  on  the  shore,  and  the  spume  is 

white  in  the  gale. 
This  is  the  rapture  of  living.    Oh,  how  can  the  land 

atone 

For  the  loss  of  the  vibrant  shrouds  and  the  joy  of 
the  slanting  sail? 

"  Follow,  then,  follow  the  free  wind  over  the  waste  of 

gray! 
The  sweep  of  the  billows  shall  rock  thee,  the  scent 

of  the  brine  shall  allure ; 
Though  Death  and  Oblivion  mock  thee,  thou  shalt 

joy  in  thy  master's  sway; 

His  scourging  shall  arm  thee  in  might,  make  thee 
strong  in  thine  hour  to  endure. 

3 


4.  THE    CALL    OF  THE  SEA 

"  Oh,  to  be  glad  with  the  sea!  to  rejoice  in  the  thun- 
derous pour, 
In  the  din,  of  the  swift-falling  waters!  to  feel  the 

cool  spray  on  thy  cheek! 
To  lie  in  the  hollowed  hand  of  thy  liege,  with  his 

spirit  to  soar, 

Glad  heir  of  adventurers  gone,  and  comrade  of 
those  that  yet  seek! 

"  Over  the  rim  of  the  world  make  thy  uncertain  quest ; 
Starlight  shall  mark  thy  course,  fog  and  the  spin- 
drift bar; 
Thou  shah  exult  in  the  storm,  in  the  calm  of  the  sea 

thou  shalt  rest ; 

Seek  danger,  and  find  it  not ;  seek  peace,  and  miss 
it  afar. 

"  It  will  lift  thee  on  wings  as  an  eagle ;  it  will  be  both 

singer  and  song ; 

A  lamp  to  thy  soul  in  need,  a  snare  to  thy  wander- 
ing feet ; 
Blind  to  thy  love  or  hate,  it  will  save  thee  alone  of 

a  throng ; 

True  to  its  own  untruth,   it  will   make  thy  ruin 
complete. 


THE    CALL   OF   THE  SEA  5 

"  All  thou  hast  hoped  it  gives,  all  thou  hast  lost  is  thine, 
When,  with  thy  face  to  the  gale,  thou  ridest  the 

storm  in  its  wrath. 
Winds  in  the  shrouds  are  a  harp,  and  the  spray  on 

thy  face  is  as  wine ; 

The  roar  of  the  waves  is  the  voice  of  God,  their 
hollows  his  path. 

"  What  is  thy  pettiness  then,  in  the  face  of  this  turbu- 
lent strife — 
Sweep  of  the  spendthrift  seas,  rush  of  the  strenuous 

gale? 
Buffeted,  driven,  alone,  yet   thy  hand  shall   guard 

thy  life, 

Thy  skill  shall  find  thee  a  path,  thy  courage  shall 
yet  avail. 

"  Over  the  swinging  sea,  under  the  pendulous  stars, 

Rule  thy  unsteady  world,  thou  the  one  steady  thing ! 
Battling  seas  and  gales,  that  would  be  thy  prison  bars, 
Mold  at  thy  will  into  bows,  thee,  their  arrow,  to 
fling! 

"This  is  the  secret  we  teach,  this  is  the  strength  we 

inspire : 
Set  thy  face  to  the  fore,  meet  the  confident  hour ; 


THE   CALL    OF  THE  SEA 

Alone,  unseen  of  men,  and  far  from  thy  heart's  desire, 
Take  at  one  plunge  this  life's  best  gift,  the  test  of 
thy  power!" 

Day  and  night  I  have  heard  it :  "  Arise  and  come  to 

thine  own! 
The  spume  is  like  smoke  in  the  blast,  and  the  flaws 

are  black  on  the  lee. 
Thou  who  art  thrall  to  the  winds  that  over  the  world 

are  blown, 

Rejoice  in  the  harping  gale,  rejoice  in  the  rolling 
sea!" 


"HE   BRINGETH   THEM  UNTO   THEIR 
DESIRED    HAVEN" 

I  KNEW  a  much-loved  mariner, 
Who  lies  a  fathom  underground ; 

Above  him  now  the  grasses  stir, 
Two  rose-trees  set  a  bound. 

From  a  high  hill  his  grave  looks  out 
Through  sighing  larches  to  the  sea ; 

Now  for  the  ocean's  raucous  rout 
All  June  the  humblebee 

Drones  round  him  on  the  lonely  steeps, 
And  shy  wood-creatures  come  and  go 

Above  the  green  mound  where  he  keeps 
His  silent  watch  below. 

An  elemental  man  was  he — 

Loved  God,  his  wife,  his  children  dear, 
And  fared  through  dangers  of  the  sea 

Without  a  sense  of  fear. 

7 


8  "HE  BRINGETH   THEM  UNTO 

And,  loving  nature,  he  was  wise 

In  all  the  moods  of  wave  and  cloud ; 

Before  the  pageant  of  the  skies 
Nightly  his  spirit  bowed ; 

Yet  reckoned  shrewdly  with  the  gale, 
And  felt  the  viking's  fierce  delight 

To  face  the  north  wind's  icy  hail, 
Unmoved  to  thought  of  flight. 

But  wheresoe'er  his  prow  was  turned, 
His  thoughts,  like  homing  pigeons,  came 

Back  where  his  casement  candle  burned 
Through  many  a  league  its  flame. 

Exiled  from  all  he  loved,  at  last 

The  summer  gale  has  brought  him  home, 

Where  on  the  hillsides  thickly  massed 
The  elders  break  in  foam. 


The  lonely  highways  that  he  knew 
No  longer  hold  him,  nor  the  gale, 

Sweeping  the  desolated  blue, 
Roars  in  his  slanting  sail 


THEIR  DESIRED  HAVEN" 

For  he  has  grown  a  part  of  all 
The  winter  silence  of  the  hills ; 

For  him  the  stately  twilights  fall, 
The  hemlock  softly  shrills 

In  mimicry  of  gales  that  woke 
His  vigilance  off  many  a  shore 

Whereon  the  vibrant  billows  broke. 
Now  he  awakes  no  more. 

He  wakes  no  more!     Ah,  me!  his  grief 
Was  ever  that  the  sea  had  power 

To  hold  from  him  the  budding  leaf, 
The  opening  of  the  flower. 

And  so  he  hungered  for  the  spring — 
The  hissing,  furrow-turning  plow, 

The  first  thin  notes  the  bluebirds  sing, 
The  reddening  of  the  bough. 

Wave-deafened,  many  a  night  he  stood 
Upon  his  watery  deck,  and  dreamed 

Of  thrushes  singing  in  the  wood, 

And  murmurous  brooks  that  streamed 


io  "HE  BRINGETH  THEM  UNTO 

Through  silver  shallows,  and  of  bees 
Lulling  the  summer  afternoon 

With  mellow  trumpetings  of  ease, 
Of  drowsiness  the  boon. 


And  dreamed  of  growing  old  at  home, 
The  wise  Ulysses  of  his  crew 

Of  children's  children,  who  would  roam 
With  him  the  lands  he  knew ; 

And,  wide-eyed,  face  with  him  the  gale, 
And  hear  the  slanting  billows  roar 

Their  diapason  round  his  rail — 
All  safe  beside  his  door. 


Now  he  has  come  into  his  own, — 

Sunshine  and  bird-song  round  the  spot, 

And  scents  from  spicy  woodlands  blown,  - 
Yet  haply  knows  it  not. 

But  round  the  grave  where  he  doth  keep, 

Unsolaced  by  regret  or  woe, 
His  narrowed  heritage  in  sleep, 

The  little  children  go. 


THEIR  DESIRED  HAVEN" 

They  shyly  go  without  a  sound, 
And  read  in  reverent  awe  his  name, 

Until  for  them  the  very  ground 
Doth  blossom  with  his  fame. 


THE   LAST   FIGHT 

THAT  night  I  think  that  no  one  slept ; 

No  bells  were  struck,  no  whistle  blew, 
And  when  the  watch  was  changed  I  crept 

From  man  to  man  of  all  the  crew 
With  whispered  orders.     Though  we  swept 

Through  roaring  seas,  we  hushed  the  clock, 

And  muffled  every  clanking  block. 

So  when  one  fool,  unheeding,  cried 
Some  petty  order,  straight  I  ran, 

And  threw  him  sprawling  o'er  the  side. 
All  life  is  but  a  narrow  span : 

It  little  matters  that  one  bide 
A  moment  longer  here,  for  all 
Fare  the  same  road,  whate'er  befall. 

But  vain  my  care ;  for  when  the  day 
Broke  gray  and  wet,  we  saw  the  foe 

But  half  a  stormy  league  away. 

By  noon  we  saw  his  black  bows  throw 

Five  fathoms  high  a  wall  of  spray ; 


THE  LAST  FIGHT  13 

A  little  more,  we  heard  the  drum, 
And  knew  that  our  last  hour  had  come. 


All  day  our  crew  had  lined  the  side 

With  grim,  set  faces,  muttering ; 
And  once  a  boy  (the  first  that  died) 

One  of  our  wild  songs  tried  to  sing : 
But  when  their  first  shot  missed  us  wide, 

A  dozen  sprang  above  our  rail, 

Shook  fists,  and  roared  a  cursing  hail. 

Thereon,  all  hot  for  war,  they  bound 

Their  heads  with  cool,  wet  bands,  and  drew 
Their  belts  close,  and  their  keen  blades  ground ; 

Then,  at  the  next  gun's  puff  of  blue, 
We  set  the  grog-cup  on  its  round, 

And  pledged  for  life  or  pledged  for  death 

Our  last  sigh  of  expiring  breath. 

Laughing,  our  brown  young  singer  fell 

As  their  next  shot  crashed  through  our  rail ; 

Then  'twixt  us  flashed  the  fire  of  hell, 
That  shattered  spar  and  riddled  sail. 

What  ill  we  wrought  we  could  not  tell ; 
But  blood-red  all  their  scuppers  dripped 
When  their  black  hull  to  starboard  dipped. 


THE  LAST  FIGHT 

Nine  times  I  saw  our  helmsman  fall, 
And  nine  times  sent  new  men,  who  took 

The  whirling  wheel  as  at  death's  call ; 
But  when  I  saw  the  last  one  look 

From  sky  to  deck,  then,  reeling,  crawl 
Under  the  shattered  rail  to  die, 
I  knew  where  I  should  surely  lie. 


I  could  not  send  more  men  to  stand 
And  turn  in  idleness  the  wheel 

Until  they  took  death's  beckoning  hand, 
While  others,  meeting  steel  with  steel, 

Flamed  out  their  lives — an  eager  band, 
Cheers  on  their  lips,  and  in  their  eyes 
The  goal-rapt  look  of  high  emprise. 


So  to  the  wheel  I  went.     Like  bees 
I  heard  the  shot  go  darting  by ; 

There  came  a  trembling  in  my  knees, 
And  black  spots  whirled  about  the  sky. 

I  thought  of  things  beyond  the  seas — 
The  little  town  where  I  was  born, 
And  swallows  twittering  in  the  morn. 


THE  LAST  FIGHT  15 

A  wounded  creature  drew  him  where 

I  grasped  the  wheel,  and  begged  to  steer. 
It  mattered  not  how  he  might  fare 

The  little  time  he  had  for  fear ; 
So  if  I  left  this  to  his  care 

He  too  might  serve  us  yet,  he  said. 

He  died  there  while  I  shook  my  head. 


I  would  not  fall  so  like  a  dog, 

My  helpless  back  turned  to  the  foe ; 

So  when  his  great  hulk,  like  a  log, 
Came  surging  past  our  quarter,  lo! 

With  helm  hard  down,  straight  through  the  fog 
Of  battle  smoke,  and  luffing  wide, 
I  sent  our  sharp  bow  through  his  side. 


The  willing  waves  came  rushing  in 
The  ragged  entrance  that  we  gave ; 

Like  snakes  I  heard  their  green  coils  spin 
Up,  up,  around  our  floating  grave ; 

But  dauntless  still,  amid  a  din 

Of  clashing  steel  and  battle  shout, 
We  rushed  to  drive  their  boarders  out. 


1 6  THE  LAST  FIGHT 

Around  me  in  a  closing  ring 

My  grim-faced  f oemen  darkly  drew ; 

Then,  sweeter  than  the  lark  in  spring, 

Loud  rang  our  blades ;  the  red  sparks  flew. 

Twice,  thrice,  I  felt  the  sudden  sting 

Of  some  keen  stroke ;  then,  swinging  fair, 
My  own  clave  more  than  empty  air. 


The  fight  went  raging  past  me  when 
My  good  blade  cleared  a  silent  place ; 

Then  in  a  ring  of  fallen  men 

I  paused  to  breathe  a  little  space. 

Elsewhere  the  deck  roared  like  a  glen 
When  mountain  torrents  meet ;  the  fray 
A  moment  then  seemed  far  away. 


The  barren  sea  swept  to  the  sky ; 

The  empty  sky  dipped  to  the  sea ; 
Such  utter  waste  could  scarcely  lie 

Beyond  death's  starved  periphery. 
Only  one  living  thing  went  by : 

Far  overhead  an  ominous  bird 

Rode  down  the  gale  with  wings  unstirred. 


THE  LAST  FIGHT 

Windward  I  saw  the  billows  swing 
Dark  crests  to  beckon  others  on 

To  see  our  end ;  then,  hurrying 

To  reach  us  ere  we  should  be  gone, 

They  came,  like  tigers  mad  to  fling 
Their  jostling  bodies  on  our  ships, 
And  snarl  at  us  with  foaming  lips. 


There  was  no  time  to  spare :  a  wave 
E'en  then  broke  growling  at  my  feet ; 

One  last  look  to  the  sky  I  gave, 
Then  sprang  my  eager  foes  to  meet. 

Loud  rang  the  fray  above  our  grave — 
I  felt  the  vessel  downward  reel 
As  my  last  thrust  met  thrusting  steel. 


I  heard  a  roaring  in  my  ears ; 

A  green  wall  pressed  against  my  eyes ; 
Down,  down  I  passed ;  the  vanished  years 

I  saw  in  mimicry  arise. 
Yet  even  then  I  felt  no  fears, 

And  with  my  last  expiring  breath 

My  past  rose  up  and  mocked  at  death. 


ON   GILGO   BEACH 

ON  Gilgo  Beach  I  stand, 

And  watch  the  sun  climb  up ; 

The  carded  foam  rims  all  the  strand 
Along  the  sea's  full  cup. 

Is  it  a  winged  flame 

Or  but  a  singing  dart, 
The  swift,  wee  sandpiper  that  came 

Out  of  the  sun's  white  heart? 

Out  of  the  east  came  he, 

Into  the  west  has  gone, 
Far  flashing  down  the  surf,  to  be 

The  herald  of  the  dawn. 

In  alternating  psalms 

The  tumbling  breakers  sing ; 

Thrilled  with  their  roar,  I  shun  the  calms 
Our  inland  regions  bring. 

18 


ON  GILGO  BEACH 

Thrall  to  the  sea  of  old, 

Shoreward  I  cannot  gaze : 
I  know  the  marshes  flaunt  their  gold, 

The  dunes  in  sunlight  blaze ; 

And  inland  hamlets  lie 

With  slender,  tranquil  spires ; 

And  drifting  down  the  peaceful  sky 
The  smoke  of  early  fires. 

The  long-forgotten  years 

Seize  me  with  leopard-spring ; 

I  feel  the  smart  of  vanished  tears, 
And  the  lost  kisses'  sting. 

I  see  return  once  more 

Sails  that  no  mortal  spread, 

And  hear  along  the  sounding  shore 
The  requiem  of  the  dead. 

Deep  in  these  beryl  glooms 
They  hold  their  hushed  estate ; 

Lords  are  they  all,  whose  glory  blooms 
In  tempests  desolate. 


20  ON  GILGO  BEACH 

And  one  I  loved,  loved  calm, 
And  with  the  fields  to  dwell : 

Oh,  now  for  him  may  there  be  balm 
In  ports  delectable! 

Lover  of  wood  and  lea, 

Fate  drove  him  far  to  roam, 

Who  should  have  kept,  in  place  of  me, 
The  narrow  ways  of  home. 

Brave  heart,  this  flower  I  fling  ' 
Into  your  murmurous  tomb : 

Still  round  our  hill  the  thrushes  sing, 
The  crocuses  still  bloom. 

But  in  this  barren  spot 

I  feel  the  sea's  strange  art : 

Each  billow  calls,  "  Forget  me  not! " 
The  far  rim  draws  my  heart. 


THE   RETURN 

Now  at  last  I  am  at  home — 
Wind  abeam  and  flooding  tide, 

And  the  offing  white  with  foam, 
And  an  old  friend  by  my  side 
Glad  the  long,  green  waves  to  ride. 

Strange  how  we  've  been  wandering 
Through  the  crowded  towns  for  gain, 

You  and  I  who  loved  the  sting 
Of  the  salt  spray  and  the  rain 
And  the  gale  across  the  main! 

What  world  honors  could  avail 
Loss  of  this — the  slanted  mast, 

And  the  roaring  round  the  rail, 
And  the  sheeted  spray  we  cast 
Round  us  as  we  seaward  passed? 


22  THE  RETURN 

As  the  sad  land  sinks  apace, 

With  it  sinks  each  thought  of  care ; 

Think  not  now  of  aging  face ; 
Question  not  the  whitening  hair : 
Youth  still  beckons  everywhere. 


And  the  light  we  thought  had  fled 
From  the  sky-line  glows  there  now ; 

Bends  the  same  blue  overhead ; 
And  the  waves  we  used  to  plow 
Part  in  beryl  at  the  bow. 


Hours  like  this  we  two  have  known 
In  the  old  days,  when  we  sailed 

Seaward  ere  the  night  had  flown, 
Or  the  morning  star  had  paled 
Like  the  shy  eyes  love  has  veiled. 


Round  our  bow  the  ripples  purled, 
As  the  swift  tide  outward  streamed 

Through  a  hushed  and  ghostly  world, 
Where  our  harbor  reaches  seemed 
Like  a  river  that  we  dreamed. 


THE  RETURN  23 

Then  we  saw  the  black  hills  sway 
In  the  waters'  crinkled  glass, 

And  the  village  wan  and  gray, 
And  the  startled  cattle  pass 
Through  the  tangled  meadow-grass. 


Through  the  glooming  we  have  run 
Straight  into  the  gates  of  day, 

Seen  the  crimson-edged  sun 

Burn  the  sea's  gray  bound  away — 
Leap  to  universal  sway. 


Little  cared  we  where  we  drove 
So  the  wind  was  strong  and  keen. 

Oh,  what  sun-crowned  waves  we  clove! 
What  cool  shadows  lurked  between 
Those  long  combers  pale  and  green! 


Gray-beard  pleasures  are  but  toys ; 

Sorrow  shatters  them  at  last : 
For  this  brief  hour  we  are  boys ; 

Trim  the  sheet  and  face  the  blast ; 

Sail  into  the  happy  past! 


BECALMED 

THE  yards  are  squared,  the  course  is  set, 
And  port  and  starboard  decks  are  wet, 
Yet  not  a  flaw  from  day  to  day 
Darkens  the  flood  or  sifts  the  spray. 

Becalmed  we  lie,  with  rocking  keel ; 
The  helmsman  nods  above  the  wheel, 
Or  idly  scans  the  shoreless  sea, 
Which  sets  no  whispering  murmurs  free. 

The  still  heights  of  the  firmament 
Spread  round  us  like  a  silver  tent, 
And  fervid  days  and  silent  seas 
Wrap  us  in  balmy  dreams  of  ease. 

No  messenger  with  hurrying  feet 
Hails  me  with  tidings  of  defeat, 
Nor  sad-faced  herald  hastes  to  tell 
That  with  my  love  all  is  not  well. 
34 


BECALMED 


I  only  know  no  seas  can  part 
Us  farther  than  a  faithless  heart, 
And  even  Death  we  might  deride 
To  part  us  more,  though  side  by  side. 


THE   VOYAGER 

DOWN  stormy  seas  our  straining  bark 
By  whistling  gales  is  onward  blown ; 
The  tackle  shrills,  the  timbers  groan, 

The  rack  is  wild  and  dark. 

No  land  we  sight,  no  bark  we  see, 

The  ice  makes  in  the  forward  shrouds ; 
The  blast  that  curls  the  scudding  clouds 

Is  cold  as  cold  can  be. 

Sometimes  the  moon  is  red  as  blood, 
Sometimes  the  air  is  white  with  snow ; 
Yet  care  we  not,  but  on  we  go 

Across  the  hissing  flood. 

The  swift  flaws  darken  on  the  lee, 
The  salt  sea-spray  is  flung  behind, 
The  canvas  bellies  in  the  wind, 

The  north  wind  whistles  free. 
26 


THE    VOYAGER  27 

And  sometimes,  on  still  Southern  seas, 
We  feel  the  freshening  of  the  gale, 
That  leaves  behind  our  path  a  trail 

Like  swarming,  silver  bees. 

The  bell  sounds  in  the  quiet  night ; 

Through  driving  clouds  the  full  moon  plows ; 

The  shadow  of  our  plunging  bows 
Doth  split  the  wan  moonlight. 

Yet  still  we  sail  and  sail  and  sail 

Through  many  circles  of  the  sun ; 

Sometimes  into  the  dawn  we  run, 
Sometimes  through  twilights  pale : 

And  though  the  wild  wet  waste  is  round, 

We  cannot  sail  forevermore ; 

There  is  no  sea  without  a  shore, 
Some  port  will  yet  be  found. 


HOMEWARD    BOUND 

THERE  is  no  sorrow  anywhere, 

Or  care,  or  pain.     The  stinging  hail 
Beats  on  our  faces  like  a  flail, 
Green  water  curls  above  the  rail, 

And  all  the  storm's  high  trumpets  blare, — 
Whistles  the  wind,  and  roars  the  sea, 
And  canvas  bellows  to  be  free, 

Spars  whine,  planks  creak,— I  only  smile, 

For  home  our  keel  creeps  mile  on  mile. 

I  bend  above  the  whirling  wheel 

With  hands  benumbed,  but  happy  face. 
Past  us  the  wild  sea-horses  race, 
Leap  up  to  seize  each  twanging  brace, 

Or  slip  beneath  our  lifting  keel. 

Dreaming,  I  see  the  scudding  clouds, 
And  ice  make  in  the  forward  shrouds, 

And  all  the  long  waves  topped  with  foam,- 

Yet  heed  them  not :  I  'm  going  home. 
28 


HOMEWARD  SOUND 

Nightly  our  Northern  stars  draw  nigh, 
The  Southern  constellations  sink. 
Soon  we  shall  see  along  the  brink 
Of  these  cold  seas  Fire  Island  blink 

Its  welcome  in  the  frosty  sky. 

Beyond  that  light,  beyond  the  glow 
Of  our  great  city  spread  below, 

Thine  eyes  now  wait  to  welcome  me 

Back  where  my  heart  has  longed  to  be. 


29 


THE   SEA-KING 

FROM  out  his  castle  on  the  sand 
He  led  his  tawny-bearded  band 
In  stormy  bark  from  land  to  land. 

The  red  dawn  was  his  goodly  sign ; 
He  set  his  face  to  sleet  and  brine, 
And  quaffed  the  blast  like  ruddy  wine ; 

And  often  felt  the  swirling  gale 
Beat,  like  some  giant  thresher's  flail, 
Upon  his  battered  coat  of  mail ; 

Or  sacked  at  times  some  windy  town, 
And  from  the  pastures,  parched  and  brown, 
He  drove  the  scurrying  cattle  down ; 

And  kissed  the  maids,  and  stole  the  bell 
From  off  the  church  below  the  fell, 
And  drowned  the  priest  within  the  well. 

3° 


THE  SEA-KING 

And  he  had  seen,  on  frosty  nights, 
Strange,  whirling  forms  and  elfin  sights, 
In  twilight  land,  by  Northern  Lights ; 

Or,  sailing  on  by  windless  shoal, 
Had  heard  by  night  the  song  of  troll 
Within  some  cavern-haunted  knoll. 

Off  Iceland,  too,  the  sudden  rush 

Of  waters  falling,  in  a  hush 

He  heard  the  ice-fields  grind  and  crush. 

His  prow  the  languid  South  seas  clove ; 
Warm,  spiced  winds  from  lemon-grove 
And  heated  thicket  round  him  drove. 

The  storm-blast  was  his  deity ; 
His  lover  was  the  fitful  sea ; 
The  wailing  winds  his  melody. 

By  rocky  scaur  and  beachy  head 
He  followed  where  his  fancy  led, 
And  down  the  rainy  waters  fled ; 

And  left  the  peopled  towns  behind, 
And  gave  his  days  and  nights  to  find 
What  lay  beyond  the  western  wind. 


THE   RETURN    OF   THE   CAPTAIN 

FULL  forty  years  as  a  master  of  ships,  and  at  sea  for  a 

dozen  more, 
I  have  fitted  my  strength  to  the  strength  of  the  gale,  I 

have  furrowed  the  deep  sea's  floor ; 
I  have  plowed  where  I  could  not  gather  the  gain,  I 

have  harrowed  the  fruitless  deep, 
Till  I  'm  sick  for  the  smell  of  the  fresh-turned  earth  and 

the  joy  of  the  men  who  reap ; 
I  am  sick  of  the  Mother  Carey's  chicks,  and  the  whine 

of  the  spars  as  they  strain 
In  the  heave  of  the  sea  through  the  watch  below,  and 

the  deck  in  the  sleet  and  the  rain. 
Oh,  I  want  to  go  where  the  robins  call,  and  the  young 

frogs  nightly  sing, 
And  the  swinging  lines  of  the  wild  geese  honk  as  they 

fly  to  the  north  in  spring. 
And  I  want  to  be  where  the  wind  is  fair,  however  the 

wind  may  blow, 

33 


THE   RETURN  OF   THE    CAPTAIN 


33 


And  the  work  of  a  man  stops  short  with  the  sun  and 

each  night  is  a  watch  below. 
So  I  'm  going  home  to  the  swing  of  the  scythe,  and  to 

follow  the  hissing  plow, 
And  to  watch  the  waves  of  the  wind  in  the  wheat  and 

the  clashing  corn-blades  bow. 
Oh,  many  a  night,  in  the  middle  watch,  when  the  norther 

whistled  shrill, 
I  have  seen  the  corn,  like  men-at-arms,  go  marching 

over  the  hill — 
Up  the  hill  and  over  the  hill  I  have  heard  their  cymbals 

sound, 
Till  the  roar  of  the  bellowing  sails  was  hushed  and  the 

sputtering  scuppers  drowned. 
And  I  've  heard  the  horses  munch  in  the  stalls,  and 

I  've  scented  the  apple-trees, 
While  I  drove  through  the  shrieking  hurricane  or  rolled 

on  the  oily  seas. 
In  the  roaring  forties,  and  off  the  Horn,  and  under  a 

blistering  sky, 
I  have  heard  the  feet  of  the  shuffling  cows,  I  have  seen 

them  marching  by. 
One  by  one  I  have  seen  them  pass  through  the  lanes 

where  I  longed  to  be, 
Home  in  the  valleys  I  used  to  know — home  from  the 

tedious  sea. 

3 


34 


THE  RETURN  OF   THE    CAPTAIN 


But  here  is  the  last  of  my  outbound  ports,  and  there  is 

the  beckoning  blue, 
And  low  in  the  rigging  the  trade-wind  hums  to  the 

shanty  of  the  crew. 
The  capstan-bars  go  round  and  round,  with  the  click  of 

the  capstan-pawls, 
Till  the  chain  's  hove  short  at  the  singing  prow  and  the 

loosened  canvas  falls. 
With  her  anchor  under  her  eager  foot,  and  head-sails  to 

port,  pay  off, 
And  carry  on  sail  till  the  royals  split  and  the  scuppers 

splutter  and  cough, 
And  the  forepeak  jars  with  the  thundering  shock,  as  the 

green  seas  slip  aboard, 
And  over  the  foaming,  cluttered  deck  the  seething  flood 

is  poured! 
Ah!  little  it  profits  a  mortal  man  that  he  squanders  his 

life  at  sea ; 
Grows  old  on  a  bit  of  quarterdeck ;  a  prisoner,  thinks 

he  is  free! 
A  galley-slave  to  the  calm  and  the  storm,  he  shall  call 

no  hour  his  own  ; 
A  lover  of  men  and  the  greening  earth,  he  shall  go  to 

his  death  alone. 
In  the  still  green  caves  of  the  swinging  sea  he  shall  come 

at  last  to  lie, 


THE  RETURN  OF   THE   CAPTAIN  35 

Bereft  of  the  fields  of  which  he  dreamed,  bereft  of  the 

arching  sky ; 
And  around  him  there  strange  shapes  shall  swim,  and 

into  his  dead  eyes  leer, 
Who  thought  to  lie  on  the  strong,  calm  hill,  with  the 

thrushes  singing  near. 
He  shall  give  his  youth,  he  shall  give  his  strength,  he 

shall  give  his  days  of  peace ; 
He  shall  bind  his  brow  with  the  whirling  scud,  from  the 

storm  find  no  release ; 
He  shall  learn  of  the  wonders  of  the  deep,  and  shall  tell 

tales  strange  and  wild : 
But  he  sits  as  a  guest  on  his  own  hearthstone  and  a 

stranger  to  his  child. 
He  shall  change,  grow  old,  in  a  changeless  world,  for 

the  sea  recks  not  of  time : 
What  it  was,  it  is ;   what  it  is,  will  be ;  and  it  has  no 

country  or  clime. 
It  abides,  loves  not,  hates  not,  makes  no  pledge ;  oft 

conquered,  conquers  still : 
For  it  sits  on  the  throne  of  indifference,  and  it  molds 

time  to  its  will. 

This  is  the  law  that  it  gives  to  men :  "  Obey,  and  obey- 
ing, die. 
Ye  shall  tempt  my  strength,  and  fail  at  last ;   ye  shall 

fail,  not  knowing  why." 


36  THE  RETURN  OF   THE   CAPTAIN 

I  am  tired  of  it  all,  and  I  'm  going  home  to  the  land 

that  gave  me  birth, 
To  dig  and  delve,  and  to  water  and  plant,  and  rejoice 

in  the  fruits  of  the  earth ; 
To  forget  the  wind-blown  decks  of  ships,  to  forget  the 

desolate  sky, 
With  only  its  pitiless,  stalking  clouds  or  a  lone  bird 

winging  by. 
Then  wait  not,  tarry  not,  but  carry  on  sail,  till  the  bowed 

spars  spring  and  crack, 
And  the  canvas  splits,  and  the  leech-ropes  part,  and  the 

timbers  groan  and  rack! 
For  I  'm  going  home,  I  am  sailing  home,  from  the  clutch 

of  the  hopeless  sea ; 

The  green  hills  lie  at  the  end  of  the  world,  and  the  val- 
leys call  to  me. 


THE   CAPTAIN   ASHORE 

HE  came  to  his  home  from  the  tedious  seas, 

And  abandoned  his  ship  for  a  plow ; 

He  was  eager  to  smell  the  hay  on  the  mow, 
And  to  gather  the  fruit  of  his  trees ; 

And  eager  to  play  at  Apollos  and  Paul, — 
To  plant  and  water, — and  feel  the  old  joy 
That  he  used  to  know  when  he  was  a  boy : 

He  sailed  again  in  the  fall. 

And  all  of  the  trouble  was  this :  he  found 

That  nothing  was  quite  as  it  seemed 

When  he  stood  on  his  deck  at  night  and  dreamed 
Of  tilling  the  fruitful  ground. 

The  hawk  sailed  high  in  the  ambient  blue, 
And  the  pigeons  cooed  in  the  sun, 
And  over  the  drowsing  fields  was  spun 

A  veil  when  the  green  came  through. 

37 


38  THE   CAPTAIN  ASHORE 

He  heard  the  robins  sing  clear  in  the  dawn, 
And  he  drank  in  the  breath  of  the  spring, 
But  nothing  in  air  or  earth  could  bring 

The  touch  of  the  days  that  were  gone. 


Hope,  or  the  wondering  mind  of  the  boy, 
Or  the  glamour  of  days  to  be — 
Something  had  gone  in  his  life  at  sea 

To  mock  him  in  all  his  joy. 

He  rose  in  the  night  to  study  the  sky, 
And  the  wind  in  his  face  was  a  balm ; 
But  it  fretted  his  soul  when  the  day  was  calm, 

Or  the  white  fog  drifted  by. 

He  missed  the  swing  of  the  reeling  stars 

And  the  quick  deck  under  him ; 

He  missed  the  sea's  unhampering  rim : 
The  sheltering  hills  seemed  bars. 

He  mounted  the  heights  for  a  breath  of  the  gale, 
And  its  resonant  voice  in  the  trees 
But  echoed  the  roar  of  the  following  seas 

And  the  bellowing  of  his  sail. 


THE    CAPTAIN  ASHORE 


39 


So  long  had  he  fought  that  he  yearned  for  the  strife 
That  he  missed  on  the  tame,  safe  land, 
And  he  longed  on  the  reeling  deck  to  stand 

And  battle  again  for  his  life. 

Had  he  grown  so  old  that  he  needs  must  stay 

Like  a  wrinkled  crone  by  the  fire? 

All  the  years  of  his  life,  all  the  strength  of  desire, 
Kept  calling:  "Away!  away! 

"  The  strength  of  the  sea  has  strengthened  thy  hand, 
The  heart  of  the  sea  is  thy  heart ; 
Go  back  to  thine  own,  to  the  end  play  thy  part, 
Unmoved  by  the  thought  of  the  land. 

"  Oh,  fair  are  the  fields  of  the  glittering  foam, 
And  dear  is  the  voice  of  the  gale ; 
Thy  home  is  under  the  whitening  sail ; 
Go  back  to  thy  home — thy  home! 

"  The  strength  of  the  sea  has  strengthened  thy  hand, 
The  heart  of  the  sea  is  thy  heart : 
It  has  bound  thee  in  chains,  it  has  set  thee  apart, 
An  alien  to  be  to  the  land." 


TURN  out,  you  goggle-eyed  lubber!  Rouse  out  of 
your  beauty-sleep! 

For  the  pin-rail  is  mighty  contiguous  when  a  sailor- 
man  plays  at  Bo-Peep. 

Rouse  out!  Rouse  out!  Where  are  you?  Where 
you  're  likely  to  be  for  a  time, 

Unless  you  die  with  your  boots  on,  and  ship  for  a 
warmer  clime. 

For  the  old  ship  she  's  a-rolling,  and  the  land  has 
fallen  alee, 

And  a  gale  in  the  rigging  is  calling,  "  Farewell,  O 
my  love,  to  thee!  " 

The  decks  are  sloppy  and  cheerless,  and  the  hawse- 
pipes  guzzle  and  cough, 

And  a  neat  little  job  on  the  royals  is  waiting  for  you 

up  alof. 

4o 


THE    OLD  MAN  41 

So  clear  your  decks  of  their  dunnage,  and  look  to 

your  steering-gear, 
For  the  mate  is  a  roaring  lion,  and  probably  headed 

here. 
He  's  a  squint-eyed  son  of  a  sea-cook,  with  his  fists 

uncommonly  spry 
In  the  dark  of  the  moon,  or  in  daylight,  when  the 

old  man  is  n't  nigh. 
But  the  old  man  he  's  a  daisy,  and  as  mild  as  a  hen 

in  the  sun ; 
He  's  Moses  and  Job  and  a  turtle-dove  all  rolled  into 

one. 
But  he  's  game  to  the  core,  is  the  old  man,  and  he 

does  n't  take  aught  on  trust; 
But  he  keeps  the  lead-line  a-going,  and  the  log  is  n't 

left  to  rust. 
He  's  never  seen  forward  the  mizzen,  but  he  knows 

when  a  foot-rope  is  worn, 

Or  a  bit  of  the  rigging  is  chafed,  or  a  cloth  of  a  head- 
sail  is  torn.  . 
He  knows  a  man  from  a  soger,  till  the  soger  knows 

it,  too, 
And  he  tries  in  his  shame  and  pride  to  do  what  a 

man  would  do. 
Just  watch  when  he  comes  on  deck :  it  's  always  the 

same,  day  or  night. 


5  THE   OLD  MAN 

First  he  looks  to  the  shivering  luff,  then  the  binnacle 

claims  a  sight ; 
Then  he  looks  up  to  windward  a  moment,  and  slowly 

his  half-shut  eye 
Sweeps  down  to  the  leeward  and  back  again,  till  the 

sea  and  the  sky 
And  the  feel  of  the  wind  on  his  face  have  told  every 

secret  they  hold. 
Now  that  's  the  old  man.     Last  year,— it  was  June, 

I  remember,  and  cold, — 
We  lay  off  the  Horn  in  a  calm,  scuppers  spouting  at 

every  roll, 
As  we  dipped  to  starboard  or  port,  till  each  of  us  felt 

in  his  soul 
Fit  for  murder  or  sudden  death,  as  a  man  will  feel 

when  the  spars 
Whine,  whine,  and  the  canvas  slats,  and  the  sun  or  the 

stars 

Sasshay  overhead  in  a  dance  that  has  neither  begin- 
ning nor  end, 
And  a  man  would  hail  with  joy  whatever  the  gods 

might  send. 
So  we  rolled  in  the  drift  off  the  cape,  with  that  black 

coast  under  our  lee, 
While  the  first  mate  waited  and  watched.     It  was  dusk 

when  we  saw  loom  at  sea 


THE   OLD  MAN 


43 


The  grim  white  arch  of  the  Horn  sweeping  down  like 

the  wrath  of  God. 
'T  was  the  rack  of  the  oncoming  gale,  and  it  leveled 

the  waters  it  trod, 
And  it  twanged  on  a  thousand  harps,  and  roared  like 

a  battle  afar. 
Just  a  moment  I  stood  there  and  listened:  heard  a 

furled  sail  flap  loose  on  its  spar, 
And  the  water  drip  back  from  the  chains  as  we  rolled, 

so  deep  was  the  hush ; 
Then  a  puff  of  wind  hummed  through  the  shrouds, 

and  the  gale  came  down  with  a  rush. 
We  heeled  with  the  blow  till  I  stood  with  my  body 

awash  to  the  knee, 
And  I  saw  three  forms  whirl  by  in  the  ruck  of  a 

breaking  sea ; 
Then  I  heard  the  foretopsail  boom,  saw  the  slivered 

canvas  fly 
Like  the  huge  white  wings  of  a  bird  down  the  waste 

of  the  wild,  black  sky. 

The  old  bark  righted  at  last  when  the  puff  had  ex- 
pended its  force, 
And  out  of  the  wallowing  hollows  we  brought  her 

again  on  her  course ; 
But  she  sagged  to  the  leeward  a  bit,  and  she  balked 

at  each  tumbling  crest, 


44 


THE   OLD  MAN 

And  she  nosed  about  like  a  blind  old  cow,  though  we 

steered  our  best. 
Yet  she  yawed  over  half  of  the  compass,  for  three  of 

us  stood  at  the  wheel, 
And  we  steered  by  the  touch  of  the  shoulder,  and  kept 

our  course  by  the  feel ; 
For  our  voices  and  sight  were  lost  in  the  driving  sleet 

and  the  din ; 
It  was  black  as  a  nigger's  pocket,  and  as  cold  as  the 

heart  of  sin. 
The  first  mate  fretted  and  fumed  till  he  saw  the  old 

man  had  appeared, 

When  he  dropped  his  burden  of  care,  and  his  face  im- 
mediately cleared ; 
But  the  old  man  showed  the  master,  as  he  stood  there 

calm  and  grim, 
For  he  knew  that  no  one  but  God  could  lift  the  burden 

from  him. 
He  looked  at  the  straining  canvas,  and  he  looked  at 

each  bending  spar, 
And  he  peered  through  the  murk  to  leeward  for  the 

loom  of  the  threatening  scaur ; 
And  he  kept  the  lead-line  going,  and  he  noted  each 

lessening  mark 
Through  the  long,  hard  morning  watch,  till  the  dawn 

broke  gray  through  the  dark. 


THE   OLD  MAN 


45 


Gray!  the  whole  world  was  gray — the  land  and  the 

sky  and  the  ship, 
And  under  the  quarters,  like  wolves,  we  saw  the  gray 

seas  slip. 
Behind  us  the  breakers  broke,  and  under  our  leeward 

bow 
We  saw  through  the  rocks  of  the  coast  the  mile-long 

rollers  plow. 
Not  a  moment  the  old  man  lost,  but  he  ordered  the 

sheets  all  home, 
And  he  cracked  on  sail,  and  he  held  her,  till  the  decks 

were  a  smother  of  foam. 
Our  hearts  stood  still  in  our  breasts,  and  our  throats 

were  dry  with  fear, 
Though  we  saw  we  were  clawing  to  windward  and  the 

rocks  of  the  Horn  dropped  clear. 
Well!  we  started  our  sheets  again  in  the  swirl  of  an- 
other gale, 
And  the  sting  of  a  thousand  bees  was  the  sting  of  the 

driving  hail, 
And  the  strength  of  a  thousand  seas  was  the  strength 

that  hurtled  us  on 
Through  a  dusk  too  black  for  day,  and  for  night  too 

gray  and  wan. 
Oh,  the  harp  of  the  rigging  sang,  and  the  dour  gale 

whistled  shrill, 


46  THE   OLD  MAN 

As  we  dropped  to  the  lonely  valley  and  leaped  to  the 

watery  hill ; 
Till  the  king  of  the  graybacks  caught  us  as  we  slipped 

in  a  watery  swale, 
And  flooded  the  vessel  fore  and  aft,  and  splittered  the 

rail. 
And  it  carried  the  old  man  outboard  for  a  hundred 

feet  or  more, 
Then  lifted  him  up  and  dropped  him  at  the  break  of 

my  galley  door. 
He  picked  himself  up  right  coolly,  and  he  turned  and 

shouted  to  me: 
"Steward,  you  lazy  loafer,  must  I  come  for  my  pot 

of  cold  tea?  " 


THE   SECOND    MATE 

I  KNEW  "  Brute  "  Barnes  as  second  mate 
Upon  the  old  bark  Morning  Star, 

A  down-East  hooker  that  of  late, 
Holding  the  starboard  tack  too  far, 
When  all  to  pieces  on  a  bar 

Off  Barnegat,  lost  crew  and  freight, 

The  latter  of  some  value.     I 

Made  one  trip  in  her,  left  the  sea, 

Content  upon  the  land  to  die. 
I  never  knew  a  man  more  free 
With  handspike  and  his  fists  than  he. 

Strike,  then  find  out  the  reason  why — 

That  was  with  him  the  jovial  way. 
Hard  and  unfeeling  when  aboard, 

On  shore  he  gave  his  nature  play. 

His  mind  with  many  a  jest  was  stored, 
And  from  his  unexhausted  hoard 

He  kept  his  hearers  blithe  and  gay. 


48  THE   SECOND  MATE 

He  was  no  bookman's  pirate ;  one 

Would  not  have  marked  him  in  a  crowd. 

Slight,  agile,  and  with  eyes  that  fun 

Made  gay  until  wrath  made  them  proud, 
When  something  yellow  seemed  to  cloud 

The  gray,  that  tears  would  overrun. 

That  is  the  way  with  fickle  men, 

The  kind  girls  like,  as  they  liked  him. 

I  knew  his  reputation  when 

I  shipped.     Scarce  was  the  shore-line  dim 
Before  he  proved  it  by  a  whim 

And  felled  a  Dutchman  we  called  Ben 

Because  he  squinted.     That  same  night — 
Wind  fair,  a  steady  eight-knot  breeze, 

Moon  full,  and  not  a  cloud  in  sight — 
Some  of  our  watch  lay  at  their  ease 
Up  forward,  gazing  at  the  seas 

Break  leeward  in  a  misty  light, 

And  climb  and  fall  against  the  sky. 
One  man  had  fallen  in  a  doze, 

When  Barnes  came  softly  stepping  by, 
And  clapped  pipe  to  the  fellow's  nose — 
He  said  to  lighten  his  repose. 

What  did  the  fellow  do  then?     Why, 


THE  SECOND  MATE  49 

Just  grin  and  bear  it ;  that  is  all 
A  sailorman  can  ever  do. 

He  bore  the  scar  until  his  fall, 

Months  later,  when,  in  reeving  through 
Its  block  a  line,  the  ship  broached  to, 

Barnes  at  the  wheel.     I  saw  him  sprawl 

A  rod  away  through  that  sick  air, 

Then  disappear.     Barnes  turned  no  look 

To  leeward,  but  began  to  swear, 

While  all  our  deck  roared  like  a  brook, 
And  our  old  hooker  groaned  and  shook 

As  green  seas  swept  her  everywhere. 

I  think  Barnes,  having  wronged  the  man, 
Felt  bitter  toward  him,  thought  him  slow, 

And  in  quick  wrath  flashed  on  that  plan 
To  shake  him  up  a  bit ;  I  know 
He  whitened  when  the  man  let  go. 

So  all  our  log  for  that  trip  ran — 

Blows,  kicks,  and  curses.     None  went  free. 

And  Barnes  was  ever  quick  to  find 
Work  in  the  middle  watch,  or  see 

Fault  where  there  was  none.     Once,  half  blind 

With  battling  in  a  sleety  wind, 
We  stayed  below  when  called,  till  he 


5° 


THE  SECOND  MATE 

Flashed  down  among  us  glowering  there. 
"  Who  is  the  last  man  up?  "  he  cried ; 

And  we,  like  whipped  curs,  blocked  the  stair, 
Not  to  be  last.     Barnes  stood  aside, 
But  that  same  watch  the  last  man  died. 

But  one  wild  night  we  saw  a  flare 

To  leeward,  and  stood  by  till  day ; 
When,  level  with  the  sea,  we  saw 

A  Dago  brig  awash  with  spray. 

There  while  we  watched  her  roll  and  yaw 
Black  on  the  sea  raced  flaw  on  flaw. 

Then  Barnes  cried:  " Clear  a  boat  away! 

Some  one  is  in  the  rigging.     Now, 

Who  goes  with  me?  "     Then  out  stepped  four. 
We  launched  the  boat ;  we  sent  her  prow 

All  whitening  through  that  awful  roar ; 

The  poor  lost  creatures  back  we  bore : 
But  nearing  our  own  bark,  saw  how 

A  cold  scud  whitened  round  her  till 
She  faded  slowly  on  the  sight. 

We  heard  her  rigging  loudly  shrill ; 

And  saw  the  "  old  man,"  grim  and  white, 
Stand  beckoning,  hastening  on  our  flight. 

They  ran  our  boat  up  with  a  will ; 


THE  SECOND  MATE 

But  as  Barnes  stepped  across  the  rail, 
A  brace,  by  some  poor  fool  set  free, 

Snapped  round  him  like  God's  awful  flail, 
And  swept  him  broken  in  the  sea. 
Then  while  we  stood  like  dazed  sheep,  he 

Rose,  smiled,  and  roared  a  hearty  hail : 

:  So  long,  boys ! "  and  then  turned  away. 

In  that  thick  gale  he  feared  no  boat 
Could  live,  and  so  he  bade  us  stay 

And  try  to  keep  the  bark  afloat. 

Brute,  yes,  but  something  else,  I  vote, 
As  most  men  are.     What  would  you  say? 


RAINY  TWILIGHT 

OH,  put  thy  hand  in  mine,  and  we  '11  take  the  road 

together : 

With  gold  the  west  is  dappled  above  the  rainy  hill  ; 
Yet  raindrops  hiss  upon  the  twigs  in  token  of  foul  wea- 
ther; 
The  twilight  is  deserted ;  these  haunted  ways  are  still. 

But  who  with  love  and  youth  would  hesitate  to  follow 
This  little  cart-track  running  through  sumacs  to  the 

sea? 
Sweet  is  the  veil  the  rain  has  made  for  love  in  every 

hollow ; 
The  gay  winds  kiss  to  beauty  thy  happy  face  for  me. 

Each  wheel-rut  is  a  pool  to  glass  the  leafless  thickets ; 
The  dry  reeds  clash  like  cymbals,  or  sway  like  men 

at  war; 

Into  the  dusk  a  rabbit  darts ;  in  antiphons  the  crickets 
Weave  happy  songs  to  shatter  the  silence  they  abhor. 
52 


RAINY  TWILIGHT 


S3 


Wide,  inaccessible,  there  lies  the  solemn  level 

Of  darkened  meadows  stretching  unto  the  ocean's  rim, 
Seamed  with  the  winding  waterways  wherein  shy  crea- 
tures revel, 

The  meadow-hens  brood  near,  the  slow  tide-waters 
brim. 

The  spray  from  off  the  sea  blows  salt  across  our  faces ; 
Thy  brow  the  cool  rains  kiss;  thine  eyes  with  love- 
light  shine. 
What  bits  of  happy  song  we  sing !      What  laughter  haunts 

these  places, 

Thrilled  with  the  far  surf's  thunder,  damp  with  its 
sweeping  brine! 

The  strong  gales  buffet  us;  the  rain  hosts  fight  with 
lances — 

With  leveled  lances  set,  against  us  ride  in  vain : 
Far  and  forgotten  now  is  grief ;  no  care  with  us  advances ; 

Our  gay  gods  haunt  alike  the  sunshine  and  the  rain. 


THE   FLOWER   OF   LOVE 

HAD  she  loved  me,  been  true  to  me  ever, 
No  task  had  then  lacked  the  endeavor 

I  had  made  for  her  sake,  and,  crowned  king, 
Entered  into  her  heart,  found  it  sweet 

To  surrender  all  Fate  gave  to  bring. 
Just  the  lack  of  that  touch  meant  defeat 
Where  men  thought  my  victory  complete. 

Had  she  given  my  heart  but  one  token, 
One  sign,  of  her  love, — a  word  spoken, 

Or  the  quick,  deep  heave  of  her  breast, 
Or  a  change  in  her  brow's  cool  white, 

Where  lily  turned  rose,— I  had  pressed 
To  the  fore  in  my  last,  doubtful  fight, 
Like  a  conqueror  still,  come  what  might. 

Had  she  needed  my  care,  it  were  given ; 
My  strength,  with  the  world  I  had  striven, 


THE  FLOWER   OF  LOVE 

Given  service  and  love — given  all, 
Fared  with  joy  the  hard  road  that  she  trod. 

Once  I  gave,  then  I  gave  past  recall. 
Love  springs  like  a  flower  from  the  sod ; 
That  withered,  the  soul  's  but  a  clod. 


55 


THOU   AND   I 

IT  was  the  heart  of  the  wood : 

Odors  of  hemlock  and  fir 
Came  to  me  where  I  stood ; 

The  song  of  the  shy  chorister, 
The  wood-thrush,  rang  like  a  bell 

Far  in  a  thicket  unseen  ; 
At  my  feet  one  ray  of  light  fell 

From  a  break  in  the  covert  of  green 
Where  laughed  a  patch  of  blue  sky. 

So  still  was  it,  one  might  have  heard, 
When  the  thrush  has  silenced  his  cry, 

The  wind  on  the  throat  of  a  bird 
As  it  ruffled  his  feathers,  or  blew 

From  the  sorrel  one  petal,  or  shook 
From  the  star-grass  its  one  drop  of  dew. 

Soundless  the  slow,  black  brook 
Under  the  great  pines  streamed ; 

Soundless  the  pines  bent  down. 
Dear,  it  was  then  that  I  dreamed 

But  of  you  in  the  heart  of  the  town. 
56 


THOU  AND  I 

Heart  of  my  heart,  I  would  come 

Out  of  this  world  to  thee. 
The  wood  and  the  wild  bee's  hum 

Have  hidden  their  beauty  from  me. 
Gone  is  the  bloom  on  the  brier ; 

Vanished  the  song  of  the  thrush : 
Only  thy  smile  I  desire, 

Only  the  flower  of  thy  blush. 
Here  are  the  stones  we  crossed 

Over  the  slow,  shallow  stream; 
Not  a  spike  of  the  moss  is  lost, 

Not  a  glint  in  the  black  pool's  gleam : 
Yet  now  that  I  walk  here  alone, 

I  see  but  a  wood-choked  shore, 
Dull  stream  with  its  bridge  of  stone 

In  a  marish  waste — no  more. 
But  far  in  the  garish  town 

Blooms  Love's  shy  garden  spot : 
There  the  heart's-ease  lifts  its  crown ; 

There  springs  the  forget-me-not. 


57 


THE   LOST   KINGDOM 

MY  kingdom  lay  upon  a  hill 
Wide  open  to  the  Northern  sea, 
And  thither  came  right  merrily 

The  joyous  ones  who  miss  me  still. 

I  claimed  the  shade  of  four  great  trees, 
A  stretch  of  moss,  a  bit  of  clover, 
A  blue  patch  where  the  sky  arched  over, 

And  all  the  outlook  of  the  seas. 

And  thither  from  the  dusty  town 
I  daily  passed,  and  blotted  out 
The  sordid  world.  A  merry  rout 

Went  through  rny  kingdom,  up  and  down. 

There  butterflies  on  asters  rode, 
And  spiders  spun  about  the  place, 
And  squirrels,  scolding  to  my  face, 

Claimed  all  my  realm  as  their  abode. 
58 


THE  LOST  KINGDOM  59 

Ah  me!      What  splendor  shut  me  in — 
Scent  of  the  rose,  and  brier-blooms 
From  out  the  trackless  thicket  glooms, 

And  in  the  air  a  doubtful  din 


Of  whistle,  pipe,  and  caroling, 
And  one  low,  lulling  monotone, 
Half  chant  or  psean,  and  half  moan, 

Where  salt  sea  waves  came  wandering! 

The  queen?     I  know  not  where  she  strayed ; 
I  only  know  that  she  was  fair, 
With  hints  of  sunlight  in  her  hair, 

And  eyes  half  mocking,  half  afraid. 

And  many  a  time  I  saw  the  sheen 
Of  her  bright  gown  go  flashing  by 
Some  woodland  glade  that  opened  nigh ; 

And  then  the  thicket  grew  a  screen. 

But  wheresoe'er  she  passed,  the  day 

Grew  still  and  white,  and  each  dark  path 
Shone  in  a  twilight  aftermath, 

As  if  God  smiled  upon  the  way. 


60  THE  LOST  KINGDOM 

Too  rare  her  visits  grew,  and  I 
Made  rarer  journeys  to  my  own ; 
For  now  my  kingdom  seemed  alone 

Where  her  uncertain  steps  drew  nigh. 


THE    HEART   OF   TRUTH 

DEAR,  my  love  I  do  not  hold 

Just  a  thing  to  barter  for: 
Say  I  love  you  if  you  love ; 

Scorn  you  if  you  should  abhor. 

Rather,  I  would  give  you  all — 
All,  though  asking  naught  in  fee, 

Like  the  grape  unto  its  wine, 
Like  the  raindrop  to  the  sea. 

Love  for  me  high  service  is, 

Just  to  make  your  life  complete : 

Do  you  need  a  knight?     I  go. 
Victim?     I  fall  at  your  feet. 

Naught  is  trifling  that  you  ask ; 

Naught  so  great  I  would  not  strive. 
Would  my  dying  serve  you,  dear, 

It  were  shame  to  be  alive. 


62  THE  HEART  OF  TRUTH 

This  is  all  that  I  could  wish  : 

Say,  "  This  day  she  spoke  a  word 

Kindly  to  me  as  I  passed  " ; 

Or,  "  She  looked  up  when  I  stirred." 

But  I  ask  not  that.     I  ask 
Only  that  my  love  may  run 

On  and  on  unchecked  by  you, 
Like  a  shadow  'neath  the  sun. 


Is  it  folly?     I  'm  content 
Once  for  all,  dear,  to  be  true, 

Though  my  doubtful  card-world  spins, 
I  the  needle,  pole-star  you. 

Why  should  you,  then,  grieve  if  I, 
Tired  of  feigning,  drop  my  mask 

Just  this  once?  Is  truth  less  truth 
If  unspoken,  may  I  ask? 

Had  I  kept  to  silence,  I 

Should  have  known  your  step  the  same, 
Listened  for  it  on  the  stair, 

Trembled  when  I  heard  your  name. 


THE  HEART  OF  ^TRUTH  63 

All  your  little  tricks  of  speech, 

Ways  of  moving — all  I  knew ; 
I  first  saw  you  in  the  spring, 

So  spring  seemed  a  part  of 'you. 


Day  for  me  began  when  I 

Saw  your  face  across  the  room ; 

If  you  then  but  turned  and  smiled, 
Even  winter  seemed  to  bloom. 

Wall  on  wall  divided  us. 

What  if  I  unlocked  the  door, 
For  an  instant  showed  my  face 

To  your  startled  eyes— no  more  ? 

God  has  set  you  high,  in  truth. 

Can  my  love  make  you  less  high? 
Does  the  glassing,  small  pool  vex 

The  blue  radiance  of  the  sky? 

Nothing  now  is  changed.     My  days 

In  the  old  way  come  and  go, 
Warped  by  neither  joy  nor  grief. 

Naught  is  changed,  dear— but  you  know. 


"DEAR   HEART,   WHERE    HAST   THOU 
WANDERED?" 

DEAR  heart,  where  hast  thou  wandered? 

What  happier  regions  stay 
Thy  lingering  feet,  whose  coming  changed 

My  winter  into  May? 

Now  all  our  slopes  are  burgeoned 

In  summer's  lavish  mood, 
And  deep  within  the  grove  the  thrush 

Has  belled  the  solitude. 

The  laurels  set  the  hillside 

With  many  a  spectral  light  ; 
Seen  through  the  dusk,  they  stand  like  nymphs, 

Expectantly  in  flight. 

But  somewhere  thou  dost  linger, 

Implacable,  afar, 
Though  high  within  the  twilight  sky 

Gleams  cold  our  trysting-star. 
64 


"WHERE  HAST  THOU  WANDERED?"          65 

The  brooks  we  loved  still  murmur, 
Though  now  through  dells  of  gloom ; 

The  very  hills  have  lost  with  thee 
Their  moiety  of  bloom. 

Still,  each  leaf  whispers  of  thee ; 

In  every  path  once  trod 
By  thy  dear  feet,  thy  spirit  yet 

Speaks  from  remembering  sod. 


CONCERNING   ONE 

Had  she  any  dower 

When  she  came  ? 
Yes ;  her  face  was  like  a  flower, 

And  her  soul  was  free  from  blame. 

On  her  cheeks  a  rose-leaf  flame 
Ever  fluttered.  When  she  spoke, 
Then  for  me  the  morning  broke. 

Wore  she  any  crown 
When  she  died? 

All  the  earth  seemed  sodden  brown, 

Though  't  was  June ;  and  children  cried, 
And  placed  flowers  at  her  side ; 

And  the  paths  that  once  she  trod 

Seemed  the  highways  unto  God. 


66 


HIS   QUEST 

WHAT  seek'st  thou  at  this  madman's  pace? 
"  I  seek  my  love's  new  dwelling-place ; 
Her  house  is  dark,  her  doors  are  wide, 
There  bat  and  owl  and  beetle  bide, 
And  there,  breast-high,  the  rank  weeds  grow, 
And  drowsy  poppies  nod  and  blow. 
So  mount  I  swift  to  ride  me  through 
The  world  to  find  my  love  anew. 
I  have  no  token  of  the  way ; 
I  haste  by  night,  I  press  by  day. 
Through  busy  cities  I  am  borne, 
On  lonely  heights  I  watch  the  morn 
Whiten  the  east,  and  see  the  light 
Of  waning  moon  gleam  thwart  my  flight. 
Sometimes  a  light  before  me  flees ; 
I  follow  it,  till  stormy  seas 
Break  wide  before,  then  all  is  dark. 
Sometimes  on  plains,  wide,  still,  and  stark, 


68  HIS   QUEST 

I  hear  a  voice ;  I  seek  the  sound, 

And  ride  into  a  hush  profound. 

To  find  her  dwelling  I  will  ride 

Worlds  through  and  through,  whate'er  betide." 

To  find  her  dwelling  rode  he  forth, 
In  vain  rode  south,  in  vain  rode  north ; 
In  vain  in  mountain,  plain,  and  mart 
He  searched,  but  never  searched  his  heart. 


APRIL 

OH,  strangely  fall  the  April  days! 

The  brown  buds  redden  in  their  light, 
And  spiders  spin  by  day  and  night ; 
The  willow  lifts  a  yellow  haze 
Of  springing  leaves  to  meet  the  sun, 
While  down  their  white-stone  courses  run 
The  swift,  glad  brooks,  and  sunshine  weaves 
A  cloth  of  green  for  cowslip  leaves 
Through  all  the  fields  of  April  days. 

Oh,  sweetly  fall  the  April  days! 

My  love  was  made  of  frost  and  light, 
Of  light  to  warm  and  frost  to  blight 

The  sweet,  strange  April  of  her  ways. 

Eyes  like  a  dream  of  changing  skies, 

And  every  frown  and  blush  I  prize. 

With  cloud  and  flush  the  spring  comes  in, 
With  frown  and  blush  maids'  loves  begin ; 

For  love  is  like  rare  April  days. 
69 


SONG 


THERE  's  a  garden  by  a  river, 
Where  the  grasses  bend  and  quiver 
On  the  river's  reedy  edges. 
Roses  crimson  all  the  hedges, 
And  a  leafy  lane  runs  down 
Through  the  meadows  to  a  town, 

In  a  winding  way. 
But  where  lies  that  garden  blowing, 
Where  that  river,  stilly  flowing, 
And  the  lawn  through  meadows  going, 

I  shall  never  say. 

ii 

Something  fairer  than  a  rose 
In  that  unknown  garden  grows. 
Something  sweeter  than  the  rhyme 
Sung  by  birds  in  lilac-time ; 
70 


SONG  71 

Fairer  than  a  dream  of  youth, 
Thought  all  lost  to  care  and  ruth. 

Something  with  a  heart  like  May ; 
Rose  and  lily  all  in  one ; 
Golden  hair  caught  from  the  sun ; 
Eyes  with  laughter  overrun. 

What?     I  '11  never  say. 

in 

Dreamy  face  and  rosebud  mouth, 
Breath  like  spring  winds  from  the  south, 
Eyes  disclosing  more  than  lies 
Hedged  beneath  the  bended  skies 

Of  a  day  in  May. 

So,  when  days  grow  longer,  sweeter, 
Grow  the  rare  June  hours  completer ; 
And  the  winter's  time  for  snowing 
Leaves  the  June  winds  chance  for  blowing, 
I  will  seek  this  garden,  growing 

Where  I  '11  never  say. 


SLEEP 

IN  a  tangled,  scented  hollow, 
On  a  bed  of  crimson  roses, 
Stilly  now  the  wind  reposes ; 

Hardly  can  the  breezes  borrow 

Breath  to  stir  the  night-swept  river. 
Motionless  the  water-sedges, 
And  within  the  dusky  hedges 

Sounds  no  leaf's  impatient  shiver. 

Sleep  has  come,  that  rare  rest-giver. 

Light  and  song  have  flown  away 

With  the  sun  and  twilight  swallow ; 

Scarcely  will  the  unknown  morrow 
Bring  again  so  sweet  a  day. 
Song  was  born  of  Joy  and  Thought ; 

Light,  of  Love  and  her  Caress. 

Nothing  's  left  me  but  a  tress ; 
Death  and  Sleep  the  rest  have  wrought  - 
Death  and  Sleep,  who  came  unsought. 
72 


"LOVE   ONCE   MADE   HIS   HOME   WITH 
ME" 

LOVE  once  made  his  home  with  me, 

Broke  my  bread,  and  drank  my  wine, 
On  the  coasts  of  Arcady. 

How  we  praised  the  purple  sea, 

Cool  shade,  and  the  strong  sunshine! 
Love  once  made  his  home  with  me. 

Joy  we  thought  to  hold  in  fee, 

Slave  at  Love's  eternal  shrine, 
On  the  coasts  of  Arcady. 

Death  alone,  we  said,  could  free 

Hearts  that  Love's  dear  chains  entwine. 
Love  once  made  his  home  with  me. 

73 


74 


"LOVE   ONCE  MADE  HIS  HOME   WITH  ME 

Leveled  let  my  dwelling  be ; 

Love  has  gone  and  left  no  sign 
On  the  coasts  of  Arcady. 

All  my  future  lost  with  thee, 

This  I  keep :  the  past  is  mine. 
Love  once  made  his  home  with  me 
On  the  coasts  of  Arcady. 


AN   IDEALIST 

ONCE  more  he  roams  the  hills  he  used  to  know, 

And  threads  the  woodland  paths  wherein  he  strayed. 
Above  the  trees  familiar  skies  bend  low, 
And  laurel  thickets  still  shut  in  the  glade, 
And  make  a  secret  shade 
The  vireos  love  to  voice  their  sorrow  in. 

The  blue  jays  jeer  him  as  they  see  him  pass, 
Warning  the  woodland  of  him ;  in  the  grass 
The  hidden  crickets  make  a  doubtful  din ; 

And  shy  things  range  where   once  their   fellows 

ranged — 
All  now  is  as  it  used  to  be,  but  he  is  changed. 

How  changed  is  he  from  him  who  gaily  took 

These  windy  uplands  with  his  open  joy 
In  all  the  pageant  of  the  year,  and  shook 

The  world's  greed  from  him  like  an  empty  toy 

That  rang  to  base  alloy ! 

75 


76  AN  IDEALIST 

For  him  the  pine-trees  echoed  his  content ; 
The  thrushes  voiced  his  own  heart's  ecstasy, 
Thrice  glad  with  him  because  they  too  were  free. 
Beauty  to  him  was  life's  one  argument ; 
He  strove  to  fit  his  nature  to  that  law, 
Glad  for  the  perfect  rose,  the  day  without  a  flaw. 

Oh,  many  a  dawn  once  found  him  on  some  height 
That  overlooked  the  hushed  and  darkened  plain, 
To  catch  the  first  coming  of  the  light, 

With  all  the  pomp  of  morning  in  its  train! 
He  faced  the  sheeted  rain 
On  many  a  sodden  road ;  he  dared  the  sea, 
Wind-swept  and  raucous,  with  his  slanting  sail, 
Knowing  the  light  that  led  him  would  not  fail : 
For,  lo!  the  embattling  seas  curved  royally, 
Loud  rolled  the  diapason  of  the  wave ; 
Each  raindrop,  stored  with  light,  a  mimic  small 
world  gave. 

He  knew  the  haunt  of  every  beast  and  bird ; 

The  secrets  of  the  seasons  were  his  own : 
Where  hid  the  first  wild  flowers,  and  when  stirred 

The  sap  in  spring,  and  when  in  antiphon 

The  katydids  intone 


AN  IDEALIST  77 

Their  vibrant  chant  for  all  the  garnered  years. 
Nature  he  knew,  but  life  he  did  not  know ; 
Gaily  he  fared,  untouched  by  love  or  woe. 
He  loved  the  singer's  art,  but  not  the  seer's, 

And  sought  through  many  a  realm  unknown  to  kings 
The  bloom  that  vaguely  lies  on  far,  desired  things. 

He  dreamed  of  things  that  vanished  long  ago : 

Old  heroes  dead  on  many  a  dented  shield ; 
The  wine-dark  sea,  the  Argo  sailing  slow 

Past  the  dim  Thracian  coast,  the  dragon-field. 
He  rode  where  brave  knights  reeled, 
In  tournaments,  before  the  leveled  lance ; 
He  sailed  with  early  mariners,  and  saw 
Strange  seas  stretch  wide  before,  and  felt  their  awe. 
Dreaming,  he  walked  the  fields  of  old  Romance, 
And  all  the  past,  of  which  he  seemed  a  part, 
Quickened  with  life  again,  and  bloomed  within  his 
heart. 


It  blooms  no  more.     To-day  now  walks  with  him, 
And  little  children's  love,  and  old  men's  prayers, 

And  hopes  grown  hopeless, — but  with  courage  grim, — 
And  griefs  that  steal  upon  him  unawares. 
His  thoughts  are  falling  stairs 


78  AN  IDEALIST 

That  leave  his  heaven  of  noble  tasks  unwon ; 
So,  nigh  to  earth,  he  sets  small  clod  on  clod, 
And  builds  not  high,  yet  reaches  up  to  God. 
What  he  has  done,  spurs  him ;  what  left  undone, 
He  holds,  in  his  own  fashion,  just  the  goal 
God  sets  to  try  the  courage  on,  to  test  the  soul. 

He  seeks  it  still,  though  he  will  never  win 
Unto  the  place  where  God  has  set  the  mark. 

Yet  dauntless  still,  like  those  who  just  begin 
On  holy  quests,  he  struggles  in  the  dark 
Through  regions  lone  and  stark. 

Humbled,  he  still  is  high ;  baffled,  does  not  despair ; 
The  light  that  led  him  thus  far  leads  him  still : 
Beauty  still  clothes  the  sea,  and  crowns  the  hill, 

And  molds  men's  deeds  to  something  rich  and  rare. 
He  looks  beyond  cold  circumstance's  bars, 
Lord  of  his  chastened  soul  and  brother  to  the  stars. 


A   SONG   FOR  THE   HOPELESS 

HAS  thy  heart  one  vain  wish  ?     Then  repress  it,  and  keep 
The  hard  road  of  thy  duty,  as  the  arrow  its  flight. 
As  the  bird  wings  its  trackless,  lone  way  through  the 
night, 

For  a  nest  in  the  reeds  where  the  slow  waters  creep 
From  the  uplands  down  to  some  warm  river's  mouth, 
So  keep  thou  thy  course  till  thou  reachest  thy  South. 

Thy  South  or  thy  North— little  matters  the  end; 

The  crown  's  in  the  doing.     If  I  risk  mine  own  soul 

That  sooner  or  later  I  reach  a  low  goal, 
It  is  only  my  soul's  low  worth  that  I  spend ; 

But  the  struggle,  the  steadfastness — there  lies  my  gain ; 

Gives  my  soul  in  the  end  strength  meet  to  its  pain. 

Grow  strong  by  repression,  not  use.     See  the  sun, 
How  it  scorches  the  plains,  and  the  rivers  makes  dry ; 
So  the  grieved  heart  is  seared  by  its  passion ;  a  sigh 

Only  mars,  warps  the  soul,  and  the  mischief  is  done. 
When  a  man  stands  alone,  with  his  heart  under  heel, 
He  's  a  man,  knows  at  last  how  the  strong  gods  feel. 

79 


8o  A   SONG  FOR   THE  HOPELESS 

Then  rejoice  in  thy  courage  to  worst  thy  desire, 
Break  free  from  the  fetters  that  shackle  thy  heart! 
He  who  feels  the  keen  pain,  and  yet  laughs  at  the  smart, 

Who  burns  in  the  flame,  while  disdaining  the  fire, 
He  is  victor,  not  victim ;  has  fathomed  God's  use 
Of  the  soul  of  a  man,  not  Fortune's  abuse. 

For  what  is  thy  life  but  a  struggle  to  stand, 

Like  a  man,  firm,  erect,  with  a  smile  on  thy  face? 

The  lily  may  spring  from  a  noisome  place, 
And  the  wild  rose  blow  on  a  barren  strand. 

Be  it  rose,  then,  or  soul,  oh,  abide  the  last  hour! 

God  waits  through  the  growing  to  judge  of  the  flower. 


MY   CAPTAIN 

YESTERDAY,  with  shout  of  glee, 
My  boy  sailed  away  to  sea. 
His  stout  ship  was  but  a  chair ; 
Sea  (the  grass)  was  everywhere ; 
And  his  sails  two  apple-trees 
Loudly  roaring  in  the  breeze ; 
Tide  at  flood,  and  wind  offshore, 
Sailed,  to  sail  forevermore. 
With  his  bright  hair  blown  about, 
He  had  only  time  to  shout 
Some  brief  parting,  wave  his  hand, 
Then  set  sail  for  fairy-land. 
I  have  been  so  far  astray 
I  have  quite  forgot  the  way ; 
But  for  him  it  lies  before 
The  known  portals  of  my  door, 
Far  this  side  of  candle-light, 
And  the  dragons  of  the  night, 

81 


82  MY  CAPTAIN 

And  this  strange  new  world's  alarms, 
Near  the  shelter  of  my  arms. 
In  the  boughs  of  blowing  trees 
He  sees  strange,  far  mysteries ; 
Lofty  cloud  and  shadow  are 
Magic  isle  or  fairy-car ; 
And  the  white  road  from  my  gate 
Runs,  he  knows,  where  lions  wait, 
Hiding  in  the  tangled  grass 
For  his  fearful  feet  to  pass. 
So  five  yards  from  him  I  stay 
Half  a  million  miles  away, 
Happy  still,  but  thinking,  though, 
Deeper  thoughts  than  he  can  know — 
Thinking  he  will  sail  again, 
Some  day,  for  the  world  of  men, 
With  the  same  glad,  careless  grace 
Shining  on  his  eager  face, — 
Coming  not,  despite  of  harms, 
To  the  lost  port  of  my  arms. 


MARCH 

THERE  is  no  sun,  and  yet  no  threat  of  rain ; 

No  radiance,  yet  all  the  dark  boles  shine ; 

No  wind,  though  all  the  air  is  like  a  wine 
As  I  go  up  the  road  in  my  love's  train. 
Between  her  love-looks  and  her  laugh  I  gain 

Glimpses  of  barren  fields,  scents  of  the  pine, 

And  sounds  like  bells  of  silver  far  and  fine — 
It  is  the  bluebird  singing  in  the  lane. 

Breathless  we  pause.     Again  the  ringing  chime, 
Now  farther,  finer,  fills  the  silences. 

Gone  are  the  bare  woods  and  the  hints  of  rime 
Along  the  north  hedge-rows :  we  dream  of  ease 

In  sunny  orchards  coming  into  bloom, 

And  walk  a  moment  in  their  radiant  gloom. 


WHEN   THE   LAST  HOUR   SHALL  COME" 

WHEN  the  last  hour  shall  come,  and  I  go, 
May  the  spring  be  at  full,  life  at  flood — 

And  a  laugh  on  the  lips,  and  a  glow 

On  the  cheek  from  the  heart's  ruddy  blood! 

No  pausing  for  me  then  to  weigh 

The  merits  of  deeds,  count  the  cost 
Of  each  act ;  pleading,  say : 
"  Here  I  won,  there  in  weakness  I  lost 

"  But  the  strength,  O  my  Judge,  that  was  mine ; 

There  I  stood  at  my  full  height  of  soul : 
What  was  weak  was  the  dregs  of  the  wine, 
Just  the  sediment  left  in  the  bowL" 

Bah!   I  knew  the  full  price  of  each  sin ; 

Knew  how  hard  was  the  road  that  I  trod : 
Shall  I  prove  myself  weak,  just  to  win? 

A  hypocrite,  quibble  with  God? 
84 


"WHEN  THE  LAST  HOUR  SHALL   COME" 

What  were  heaven  to  me,  may  I  ask, 
If  I  cringe  at  the  gate  for  my  gain? 

Then  were  heaven  but  a  place  for  a  mask, 
Where  the  mummers  make  merry  in  vain. 

What  I  am,  tried  to  be,  He  must  know ; 

Where  I  failed,  no  last  hour  can  requite. 
In  the  pride  of  my  strength  may  I  go, 

Like  a  man,  with  my  face  to  the  fight! 


THE   ROAD    WE   CAME 

READ  AT  THE  TWENTY-FIFTH  ANNIVERSARY  OF 
THE  CLASS  OF    1877,  YALE   UNIVERSITY 


ONCE  more  the  urban  groves  have  called  us  home. 

The  cool  shade  and  the  academic  walls 

Echo  the  tread  that  now  no  longer  falls 
Blithe  as  in  days  when  we  were  wont  to  roam 
Beneath  the  elms'  green  dome. 

Little  there  is  that  we  can  now  call  ours, 
Whose  world  is  but  a  shadow  on  the  grass, 

Where  we  as  aliens  walk  by  alien  towers, 
And,  strangers,  watch  the  strange  young  faces  pass. 

The  garrulous  Present  brings  but  memories  here ; 

The  Future  veils  her  face ;  only  the  Past  is  clear. 

86 


THE    ROAD    WE   CAME  87 

II 

The  Past  is  clear.     Across  our  brooding  eyes 

Bright  fares  the  goodly  company  we  knew 

Before  the  laurel  or  the  saddening  rue 
Had  crowned  each  dark  defeat  or  high  emprise. 
In  dreams  our  old  world  lies 

Wide,  unhorizoned  to  the  eager  gaze 
That  longed  to  build  a  bridge  unto  some  star 

That  shone  upon  the  future's  unvexed  ways. 
No  star  was  there  whose  distance  was  a  bar 

To  that  high  spirit  of  the  growing  man 

Who,  seeing,  longed  to  gain,and  longing,  cried,  "I  can." 

in 

We  held  in  truth  the  happy  heritage 

Of  plainer  living ;  saw  the  new  Yale  rise, 
And  statelier  groups  of  elms  fret  the  blue  skies. 

We  were  the  demos  of  that  simpler  age 

And  read  life's  golden  page 

Together  where  the  two  streets  met  the  town. 

From  that  lost  coign  grew  our  unwritten  law 
That  simple  manhood  is  man's  highest  crown. 

There  honor,  rooted  in  endeavor,  saw 

No  pent-up  truth  warring  with  things  untrue : 
The  strong  hand  won  by  strength ;  the  weak  received 
its  due. 


88  THE  ROAD    WE    CAME 

IV 

How  fast  the  deeds  of  old  now  reappear! 

Again  we  strive  upon  the  eager  field, 

And  know  the  old  heart-sickness  when  we  yield, 
The  wild,  uplifting,  glad  joy  when  we  hear 
The  victory's  crowning  cheer. 

Once  more  the  parched  throat  and  the  heaving  breast, 
The  maddening,  gladdening  struggle  for  the  goal, 

The  mental  sinking  that  comes  with  our  rest, 
After  the  bloom  is  gone,  assail  the  soul. 

Oh,  short  the  road  into  the  purple  past 

Where  we  were  crowned  with  youth !    Would  that  our 
youth  might  last ! 

v 

We  hear  the  boatmen  on  the  still,  black  stream 
As  we  row  home  at  dusk,  and  hear  them  call 
From  deck  to  shore,  and  then  the  clanking  fall 

Of  their  home-coming  anchors ;  hear  the  scream 

Of  night-hawks,  catch  the  gleam 

Of  phosphorescence  as  we  slowly  row 

Past  river-banks  the  dusk  makes  strangely  fair. 
High  o'er  the  city  shines  the  twilight  glow, 

And  on  the  harbor  trails  its  golden  hair. 

The  river  flows  here  yet ;  still  broods  the  shore ; 
But  others  track  them  now,  where  we  shall  go  no  more. 


THE  ROAD    WE   CAME  89 

VI 

Deep  in  the  cloistered  refuge  of  the  mind 
Some  kept  the  scholar's  vigil.     Never  star 
Blazed  in  its  orbit  but  was  seen  afar 

By  some  lone  watcher  strenuous  to  bind 

Its  uses  to  mankind ; 

No  new  truth  flashed  upon  the  waiting  world 

But  some  strong  thinker  in  sad  loneliness 

Fired  the  slow  train  with  which  the  bolt  was  hurled. 

Still  to  their  goal  our  own  rare  scholars  press, 
And  high  upon  the  watch-towers  of  the  soul 
Guard  the  eternal  truths  and  keep  their  sacred  scroll. 

VII 

But  some  there  were  who  dwelt  in  Arcady, 
And  took  in  secret  the  unplauded  ways, 
Shunning  the  contests  and  the  fevered  days, 

Glad  only  with  the  spirit  to  be  free. 

For  them  the  windy  lea, 

The  cool  woods,  and  the  twilights  hushed  and  brown, 

The  lifted  steeps  that  held  the  last  of  day, 
The  far  lights  glimmering  in  the  college  town, 

Beckoning  them  home  along  the  darkened  way! 
How  leaped  the  frosty  road  to  meet  their  feet! 
What  talks  and  silences  made  all  their  journeys  sweet! 


9° 


THE  ROAD    WE   CAME 


VIII 


For  them  fair  Greece  and  sunlit  Italy 

Rose  bright  above  our  dark  New  England  soil. 
They  saw  great  consuls  leading  home  their  spoil, 

And  spoke  Odysseus  on  the  wine-dark  sea. 

They  saw  the  maenads  flee, 

The  fauns  pursue  athwart  the  beechen  lawn, 

And  old  Silenus  lolling  in  the  shade, 

Trying  some  oaten  note ;  and  here  at  dawn 

The  wide-eyed  Daphne  came  all  unafraid — 
Came  all  alone,  and  crooning  some  weird  air, 
Knelt  at  the  shaded  pool  and  combed  her  dusky  hair. 

IX 

Their  walks  are  little  changed :  Fair  Haven  yet 

Over  its  river  leans ;  to  Derby  still 

The  road  winds  up  by  many  a  wooded  hill ; 
Eastward  slow  creeks  the  wide  salt-marshes  fret ; 
And  fogs  hang  gray  and  wet 

In  winter  over  Branford  and  its  shore. 
And  often  have  they  tacked  in  flaw  and  calm 

Beyond  the  Thimbles,  heard  the  raucous  pour 
Of  tumbling,  sunlit  seas,  and  felt  the  balm 

Of  windless  twilights  melting  into  flame. 

The  salt  seas  lure  them  still ;  the  wet  ways  are  the  same. 


THE  ROAD    WE   CAME 


91 


We  have  been  fortunate :  so  many  years, 

So  many  lives,  yet  few  have  failed  the  call. 

But  some  heard  not,  and  in  their  place  the  fall 
Of  Sorrow's  footstep  breaks  upon  our  ears, 
Starting  unbidden  tears. 

Dear  lost  ones,  who  with  us  were  wont  to  roam 
Under  the  elms  when  life  was  in  its  spring, 

We  send  this  word :  Our  hearts  are  still  your  home ; 
Your  voices  sound  beside  us  when  we  sing ; 

Still  where  we  planted  it  the  ivy  blooms ; 

With  leaves  of  memory  we  deck  your  far-off  tombs. 

XI 

Green  in  the  white,  still  heat  of  later  June 

The  college  sits  in  all  her  gracious  pride, 

And  lovingly  her  portal  opens  wide 
To  us,  her  sons,  who  here,  to  age  immune, 
In  gladness  scorn  to  prune 
The  wings  they  mimic  now,  but  in  youth  wore. 

Back  run  the  lustra  five ;  we  see  again 
The  boyish  faces  that  we  knew  of  yore, 

But  darkly  mirrored  now  in  bearded  men. 
Now  we  troop  home  where  burns  the  candle-light 
The  mother  sets  for  us.     We  keep  the  tryst  to-night. 


92 


THE  ROAD    WE    CAME 

XII 

We  keep  the  tryst,  not  questioners  of  each  heart, 
But  rather  as  known  ships  that  pass  at  sea, 
And  speak  in  passing,  and  hail  cheerily, 

Before  the  gale  shall  bear  them  far  apart. 
'What  cargoes  for  what  mart 

Beareth  your  laboring  craft  across  the  blue? 

Is  all  now  well  with  you?     Report  us  well." 
Thus  runs  the  seaman's  hail ;  so  runs  ours,  too. 

Then  looking  sadly  back  across  the  swell, 
We  watch  each  other's  canvas  slowly  run 
To  ports  where  we  would  be  or  to  oblivion. 

XIII 

And  yet  there  are  such  toilsome  heights  to  scale, 
Such  pleasant  valleys  where  the  soul  may  win 
Fair  courts  of  ease  to  make  its  dwelling  in, 

That  it  is  easier  praising  than  to  rail 

When  wrongs  win,  virtues  fail ; 

And  it  is  easier  being  false  than  true 

When  Honor  bids  us  wage  a  losing  war — 
For  life  is  oft  the  choice  between  the  two, 

And  we,  for  ease,  love  what  we  should  abhor. 
Yet  what  avails  our  wealth  or  power  or  fame 
If  Virtue  flaunts  in  rags  and  Honor  cries  her  shame? 


THE  ROAD    WE   CAME  93 

XIV 

Here  in  life's  noon  we  put  our  toiling  by 

To  rest  a  little  in  the  grateful  shade. 

From  battles  past  and  struggles  unessayed, 
A  moment  here  we  turn  in  ease  to  lie. 
To-morrow  we  shall  try 

Our  strength  anew  upon  the  stricken  field, 
And  put  forth  all  our  power,  and  haply  gain, 

Or  pass  in  silence  on  our  lifted  shield. 
One  thing  we  know :    No  victory  can  stain 

The  fallen  hero  whom  to  earth  it  flings, 

Or  lift  the  conquering  knave  on  strong,  upbearing 
wings. 

xv 

From  its  lone  heights  the  soul  looks  calmly  down 

Upon  the  mortal  in  its  narrow  groove. 

Backward  and  forward  swift  the  shuttles  move, 
Weaving  the  web  of  life.     Whether  men  frown 
Upon  the  work  or  crown 

With  winged  praise,  it  shall  in  naught  avail 
Except  the  soul  glows  in  the  web  we  spin. 

If  absent,  then,  though  victors,  we  shall  fail ; 
If  there,  though  vanquished,  we  shall  surely  win. 

We  weave  the  fabric,  and  receive  our  due : 

Only  the  weaver  knows  if  it  be  false  or  true. 


94 


THE  ROAD    WE    CAME 


XVI 


Only  the  weaver  knows  what  pain  and  care 

Have  sped  the  flying  shuttle  in  its  course ; 

What  tangled  threads  have  neutralized  his  force, 
What  poverty  has  kept  his  pattern  bare. 
Yet  it  shall  still  be  fair, 

If  he  but  follow  beauty  till  he  die. 

Serene  in  faith,  he  keeps  his  low  estate ; 
Vanquished,  he  puts  the  ended  combat  by, 

And  conquers  conquest  while  he  learns  to  wait. 
For  him  the  stars  shall  bend,  the  high  gods  toil, 
Who  shall  betray  no  trust,  no  high  pursuit  assoil. 


NEAR   SUNSET 

SOMETIMES,  from  fields  grown  sadly  strange 
Since  robins  fled,  by  woodland  path, 

Straight  up  the  valley-head  I  range 
To  reap  the  day's  poor  aftermath. 

The  spiders  spin  across  my  face ; 

The  startled  partridge,  fleeing,  makes 
A  sudden  silence  in  the  place 

The  rasping  cricket  scarcely  breaks. 

I  climb  the  hill :   the  top  draws  nigh ; 

The  path  grows  light  again,  and  lo.f 
The  pale  new  moon,  the  crimson  sky, 

The  village  on  the  plain  below! 

And  weary  huskers,  binding  long 
On  dusky  slopes,  still  bind  by  night, 

While,  like  the  murmur  of  a  song, 
Their  talk  is  blown  across  the  height. 

95 


INDIAN   SUMMER 

WHAT  heights  of  rest  are  in  these  silences ! 

What  thirst  of  plains  the  sunlight  seems  to  slake ! 

The  meadows  bask ;  no  bitter  north  winds  wake 
The  tree-tops  from  their  fruitless  dream  of  ease. 
The  slow  brooks  murmur  like  a  swarm  of  bees, 

And  some  shy  creature  in  the  tangled  brake 

Darts  and  is  still,  and  trooping  sparrows  make 
A  moment's  chatter  in  the  cedar-trees, 
And  then  on  far  skies  quickly  seem  to  cease, 

Or,  wheeling,  drop  behind  some  stubbled  mound ; 
But  all  day  long  the  brooks  find  no  release, 

And  lift  their  wandering  undertones  of  sound. 
This  is  the  year's  full  flower,  the  crown  of  peace, 

The  sunlight's  harvest,  and  the  south  wind's  bound. 


IN   NOVEMBER 

OH,  mark  how  through  the  latticework  of  brown — 
November's  trees — the  lights  of  gray  skies  sift! 
No  birds  now  sing,  nor  any  shadows  shift 

Below  the  sunless  gables  of  the  town ; 

But  brooks  run  tawny,  and  a  purple  crown 
Of  elder-tops  the  marish  hollows  lift, 
While  haunting  twitters  from  the  thickets  drift, 

And  hollow  pipes  the  gale  across  the  down. 

Now  memories  like  voices  fill  the  gale — 
The  joy  of  harvests  and  the  hope  of  springs, 

And  songs,  though  felt,  unsung,  and  griefs  that  pale, 
And  loves  that  flush,  and  hopes  that  lift  on  wings, 

And  sunlight  on  the  silent,  winter  hills, 

Thrilling  anew  the  heart  that  sorrow  thrills. 


97 


A  WINTER   MORNING 

THE  snow-drifts  pile  the  window-ledge, 
The  frost  is  keen,  the  air  is  still, 
The  lane  that  lies  below  the  hill 
Is  drifted  even  with  the  hedge. 
Gray  skies,  and  dark  trees  shaken  bare, 
Blue  smoke  that  rises  straight  in  air,— 
While  down  the  west  a  yellow  glare 
Is  driven  like  a  wedge. 


IN   SHADOW 

FROM  the  town  where  I  was  bred 

I  have  been  so  long  away, 

In  its  streets  I  met  to-day 
Both  the  living  and  the  dead. 

Though  the  upland  paths  we  trod, 

Long  ago,  are  overgrown, 

When  to-day  I  walked  alone 
Your  step  sounded  on  the  sod. 

Long  I  climbed  the  eastern  hill 

Till  the  woods  lay  at  my  feet ; 

In  my  heart  your  own  heart  beat, 
On  my  hand  your  touch  lay  still. 

Nothing  there  had  changed,  and  there, 
Through  that  hushed  and  shadowed  place, 
I  passed,  meeting  face  to  face 

My  old  fancies  everywhere. 

99 


ioo  IN  SHADOW 

In  still  valleys  I  walked  through, 
My  heart's  throbbing  deafened  me : 
Suddenly  I  seemed  to  see 

Jealous  Death's  dim  shape  of  you. 


MARSYAS 

ROUND  one  piping  on  the  mountain 
Timid  forest  creatures  drew ; 

Song  of  bird  and  purl  of  fountain 
Woke  anew 
In  the  oaten  pipe  wherein  he  blew. 

Ivy  sprung,  and  myrtle  nodded, 
Grasses  rippled,  sedges  grew ; 

Silver-winged  and  tawny-bodied 
Wild  bees  flew 

Thickets  over,  meadows  through  and 
through. 

With  the  swift  sweep  of  the  swallow, 
Springtime  seemed  to  catch  the  earth, 

Sunlight  flooded  steep  and  hollow 
With  new  birth, 
Woke  the  hillside  to  the  river's  mirth. 


102  MARSYAS 

Quiet  things  he  loved  the  best : 
Songs  of  springs  that  bubble  up 

Through  wet  grasses,  weight-oppressed ; 
Bees  that  sup, 
Droning  in  the  almond-blossom's  cup ; 

Beat  of  wings  that  swiftly  pass ; 

Sounds  of  locust-horns  that  made 
Subtle  music  in  the  grass. 

These  he  played, 

While  shy  things  came  to  him,  unafraid. 

Ceased  he.     Silent  grew  the  fountain ; 

Fled  each  creature  to  its  lair ; 
Solemn  wood  and  silent  mountain, 

Soundless  air, 

Woke  to  find  the  winter  everywhere. 


THE    DREAMER 

OH,  I  have  sailed 

Where  others  failed, 
Found  polar  seas  and  Happy  Isles, 
And  gone  a  million  million  miles 

Through  summer  and  through  snowing! 

And  I  have  seen 

Old  Pan  between 
The  oaken  vistas,  as  I  passed 
Low  banks  Lycaeus  overcast, 
His  oaten  pipe  a-blowing. 

Sometimes  on  seas 

Sweet  melodies 

Of  phantom  voices  fill  the  sky, 
And  fairy  barges  pass  me  by, 
Bound  out  for  El  Dorado. 

Through  frozen  noons 

And  torrid  moons, 

Toward  stranger  noons  and  moons,  I  steer ; 
Through  wood  and  waste  I  journey  near 
The  Valley  of  the  Shadow. 


IO4 


THE  DREAMER 

In  crowded  throngs 

I  hear  strange  songs, 
And  blare  of  trumpets  sounding  by 
Old  villages  and  castles  high 
And  pied  and  daisied  hollows ; 

Or  see,  between 

The  spring's  young  green, 
The  gleaming  shoulder,  pearly  white, 
Of  laughing  dryad,  in  swift  flight, 
The  gay  faun  hotly  follows. 

Sometimes  the  night 

Is  filled  with  light, 

And  all  the  sweet  myrrh-thickets  glow 
With  softened  yellow,  when  below 
A  thousand  lanterns  quiver. 

Through  outer  glooms 

And  trailing  blooms, 
I  sweep  into  enchanted  lands, 
Fast  skimming  o'er  the  golden  sands 
Of  Bagdad's  storied  river. 

And  dancing  girls 

In  dreamy  whirls, 

By  palace  doors  that  brightly  gleam, 
Float  through  like  visions  in  a  dream, 


THE  DREAMER 

The  sweet  thought  follows  after. 
And  eyes  meet  eyes 
In  love's  surprise, 

Hearts  beat,  and  loud  the  wailing  flute 
And  murmur  of  the  drowsy  lute 
Do  mimic  happy  laughter. 

The  grace  that  gleams 
In  poets'  dreams 

And  lovers'  thoughts  I  still  pursue ; 
For  me  the  sunlight  paints  the  dew 
And  lilies  perfume-laden. 
To  me  bird-song 
And  joy  belong, 

And  poles  come  near,  and  stars  draw  nigh ; 
For  me  doth  droop  the  laughing  eye 
Of  arch  and  tender  maiden. 


ONCE   WITH    DAPHNE 

I  WITH  Daphne  used  to  meet 

Where  the  rushes  belled  our  feet 

On  still  mornings.     Straightway  then 

We  forsook  the  haunts  of  men 

For  the  cool  and  secret  glooms 

Where  the  unsunned  laurel  blooms. 

Round  her  waist  she  deftly  drew 

Her  bright  fawn-skin,  and  laughed  through 

That  black  tangle  of  her  hair, 

That  unwinding  but  left  bare 

Half  her  shoulder's  gleaming  grace. 

Then  she  turned  her  perfect  face, 

And  with  murmured  laughter  shook 

Down  cool  dew-baths.     Straight  we  took 

Flight  again,  and  hastened  on 

To  a  valley  dusk  and  wan, 

And  so  strange  we  heard  anew 

Our  old  footsteps  running  through, 

106 


ONCE   WITH  DAPHNE 

And  so  dim  that  each  one's  face 
Seemed  a  shadow  in  the  place, 
And  so  still  the  wind  was  heard 
Blowing  on  the  beak  of  bird, 
And  the  woodland  noises  seemed 
Something  soundless  that  we  dreamed. 
There  her  voice  was  like  a  flame 
When,  betimes,  she  spoke  my  name, 
And  that  whispered  speech  of  hers 
Drowned  the  woodland  choristers; 
Drowned  th'  elusive  murmuring 
Of  the  bubbling,  hidden  spring ; 
Drowned  the  ghosts  of  winds  a-search 
For  the  vibrant  leaf  of  birch. 
Ah,  how  little  wise  men  know 
Where  we  happy  dreamers  go! 


THE    FLIGHT 

ALONG  the  lonely  mountain 
And  down  the  dusky  vale, 

He  took  by  scaur  and  tangle 
A  path  without  a  trail. 

No  bird  sang  on  that  journey, 
And,  piping  through  the  glade, 

No  brown  young  shepherd  hurried 
From  sun  to  happier  shade. 

There  was  no  wind ;  the  tree-tops 
Seemed  frozen  on  the  sky : 

There  was  no  sound ;  the  wild-woods 
Gave  forth  no  wild  thing's  cry. 

He  saw  no  foe  before  him, 

He  saw  none  in  the  rear, 
Yet  ever  seemed  to  hurtle 

The  wild,  avenging  spear. 

108 


THE  FLIGHT  109 

The  sunlight  made  his  shadow 

One  crouching  at  his  knees ; 
The  darkness  hid  the  leering  face 

Of  hate  among  the  trees. 

He  thought  he  heard  low  whispers, 

And  stealthy  foemen  glide, 
As  all  his  dark  pursuers 

Closed  round  on  every  side. 

Yet  never  hand  was  lifted 

Against  him  in  that  place, 
And  never  grim  avenger 

With  him  stood  face  to  face. 

He  was  his  own  sad  victim ; 

His  was  the  slayer's  part : 
For  ever  sped  the  arrow — 

The  sin  within  his  heart. 


THE   STRAYED   REVELER 

As  she  flees  up  the  mountain-side 

The  valley  is  astir 
With  gay  companions,  racing  wide 

In  vain  pursuit  of  her. 

In  every  tangled  copse  they  seem 

To  see  her  streaming  hair, 
And  where  the  wild,  white  lilies  gleam, 

Her  face  a  lily  there. 

But  laughing,  hand  to  side  to  still 

The  beating  of  her  heart, 
Tiptoe  upon  the  lonely  hill 

She  stands,  with  lips  apart. 

The  gay  rout  passes,  and  there  falls 

A  silence  in  the  place ; 
Again  the  cuckoo  softly  calls, 

The  watchful  squirrels  race. 


THE  STRAYED  REVELER  in 

Then,  like  a  sigh  among  the  trees, 

A  wind  is  softly  heard, 
And,  like  a  leaf  blown  down  the  breeze, 

There  darts  a  songless  bird. 

For  one  swift  moment  then  she  slips 

Into  a  world  apart : 
She  thinks  of  mold  upon  her  lips 

And  dust  about  her  heart. 


IN    MASQUERADE 

Now  every  twig  's  a  gleaming  lance 
With  jeweled  haft  of  dazzling  frost, 
And  withered  tops  of  weeds,  once  tossed, 

Are  frozen  in  a  spectral  trance. 

The  moon  is  blown  a  silver  boat 
Across  the  soundless  upper  seas ; 
A  beetling  castle  stand  the  trees, 

The  valley  is  a  bridgeless  moat. 

Beyond  the  meadow  winding  down 
The  dusky  hollow  to  the  sea, 
Beyond  the  unstirred  poplar-tree, 

I  seek  two  lights  within  the  town. 

They  glitter  like  a  serpent's  eyes, 
And  waiting  in  their  luring  glow, 
The  serpent-soul  I  seek,  I  know, 

Sits  there  in  woman's  sweetest  guise. 


SIR   LAUNCELOT 

NEAR  Camelot  the  rivers  meet 
The  lane  where  once  he  rode  with  her : 
He  rides,  and  sees  a  dead  wind  stir 

The  pallid  waters  at  his  feet. 

He  hears  the  windless  thickets  stirred 
By  some  wild  creature.  O'er  the  grass 
He  sees  the  hawk's  gray  shadow  pass, 

Yet  knows  it  not  from  leaf  or  bird. 

Now  he  has  come  where  fancies  reign : 
Now  though  he  flees,  he  soon  returns ; 
Like  flame  his  heart  within  him  burns ; 

His  mind  is  like  a  turning  vane. 

In  crypts  he  vainly  tries  to  pray — 
There  troop  the  burdens  of  gay  songs ; 
In  crowded  inns  he  jests  of  wrongs, 

But  feels  his  great  heart  giving  way. 


SIR  LAUNCELOT 

His  soul  is  like  a  hunted  thing 
'Twixt  hell  and  heaven.     Each  kiss  that  drew 
Their  lips  together  thrills  anew, 

And  then  becomes  a  serpent's  sting. 


A  POET 

THREE  things  he  knew :  the  shock  that  sorrow  brings, 
The  woodland's  secrets,  and  one  woman's  heart. 
These  made  the  gamut  of  his  flame- wrought  art, — 
Grief,  truth,  and  love :  from  these  the  poet  springs. 


THE    FLIGHT   TO   THE   HILLS 

Lo!  as  I  came  to  the  crest  of  the  hill,  the  sun  on  the 

heights  had  arisen, 
The  dew  on  the  grass  was  shining,  and  white  was  the 

mist  in  the  vale ; 
Like  a  lark  on  the  wing  in   the  dawn  I  sang,  like  a 

guiltless  one  freed  from  his  prison, 
As  backward  I  gazed  through  the  valley,  and   saw 
no  one  on  my  trail. 

For  at  night  one  had  come  to  my  couch  in  the  first 

dreamless  hours  of  my  slumber, 
Put  hand  to   my  forehead,  and   whispered :    "  Up. 

David !   and  make  no  delay ; 
For  against  thee  the  king  in  his  wrath  has  set  murderers 

and  spies  without  number, 

So  haste  to  escape  from  their  clutches  ere  the  hire- 
lings shall  block  every  way." 

116 


THE  FLIGHT  TO    THE  HILLS 


117 


So  I  rose  and  went  hastily  forth :  with  one  bound  passed 

the  door  where  the  watchman  lay  sleeping, 
Slipped  fast  by  the  moonlighted  wall  till  we  came  to 

the  last  city  gate ; 
One  blow,  and  the  gateman  lay  prone ;  one  creak,  and 

forth  I  went  creeping ; 
"With   God!"   cried  my  friend  as  he  vanished,  and 

left  me  alone  to  my  fate. 

So  I  took  the  straight  road  for  the  cherishing  hills,  with 

each  step  my  heart  growing  lighter ; 
For  like  an  old  song  just  recalled  was  the  scent  of 

the  grasses  I  trod  ; 
And  far  in  the  vale  to  his  mate  in  the  wood  the  bulbul 

sang  songs  to  delight  her ; 

And  sweet  was  the  chime  of  the  brook  as  it  swirled 
through  the  rock-studded  sod. 

At  times  I  would  pass  by  a  fold  in  the  dark  and  hear 

the  shy  sheep's  muffled  bleating, 
Or  hear  the  lone  bark  of  a  fox,  or  the  scurry  of  feet 

from  my  path ; 
For  this  was  the  time  of  the  hunter  and  hunted,  the 

place  of  their  meeting ; 

And  I  laughed  as  I  thought  of  my  flight  from  the 
town  and  of  Saul  and  his  wrath. 


n8  THE  FLIGHT  TO    THE  HILLS 

How  my  heart  leaped  up  to  the  game  as  I  ran,  for  I 

was  the  north  wind's  brother, 
As  keen  as  the  hare  to  scent  foe,  as  swift  as  the  fox 

to  flee ; 

So  as  I  thought  of  Saul's  men  on  my  track,  and  stum- 
bling against  one  another, 

Wearied  and  worn  with  the  chase,  I  shouted  aloud 
in  my  glee. 

Still  dark  was  the  east  as  I  left  the  plain  and  sprang 

from  boulder  to  boulder, 
Up  to  the  hills  that  nurtured  me,  mother  of  eagles 

and  men ; 

Till  I  stood  at  last  on  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  and  look- 
ing back  over  my  shoulder, 

Saw  the  sun  like  a  flower  of  fire  break  cover  and 
bloom  again. 

Startled,  the  slow,  brown  sheep  rose  stumbling  out  of 

the  damp,  matted  grasses 
Where  they  had  slept,  snuffed  wildly,  then  paused, 

then  thundered  away, 
Like  a  rain-swollen  brook  that  in  spring  goes  roaring 

and  leaping  through  new  mountain  passes ; 
Startled,  I  too  turned  and  fled  ere  the  shepherds 
could  follow  and  slay. 


THE  FLIGHT  TO   THE  HILLS  1I9 

Then  the  days  went  by  like  lonely  birds,  and  never  a 

bird  went  singing ; 
With  hands  at  my  knees  I  dozed,  or  watched  through 

the  glare  of  light : 
But  never  a  dust-cloud  rose  on  the  plain  from  the  feet 

of  messengers  bringing 

Any  word  of  Saul  and  his  anger  to  bestir  me  again 
to  my  flight. 

And  nightly  I  lay  in  the  moss  till  I  heard  the  snarling, 

low  cough  of  the  leopard, 

All  preyless,  go  seeking  at  dawn  his  lair  in  the  inner- 
most hills ; 
And  saw  afar,  like  ants  on  the  slopes,  the  sheep,  trailing 

after  their  shepherd, 

Go  down  from  the  fold  to  the  vale,  where  the  water 
fell  carded  in  rills. 

And  I  had  no  task  by  day  but  to  watch  the  gray  leaves 

of  the  olive-tree  changing, 
And  the  nestlings  take  wing  from  their  nests  and 

flutter  and  fly  away ; 
And  watch  from  the  dawn  till  the  dove-colored  eve  the 

slow  sun  steadily  ranging, 

While  a  lizard  asleep  on  a  stone  in  the  heat  was  the 
sun-dial  marking  my  day. 


120  THE  FLIGHT  TO    THE  HILLS 

For  I  had  no  flocks  to  fold  at  night,  or  no  herds  to 

lead  from  the  mountains 

When  the  wolves  came  savage  with  hunger  or  thiev- 
ing bands  held  our  ways ; 
And  I  had  no  harp  with  the  wind  to  vie,  or  to  mate 

with  the  music  of  fountains, 

Or  contend  with  the  lark  when  he  rose  at  dawn  and 
sang  to  the  Lord  his  praise. 

So  long  I  had  dwelt  with  men,  I  had  lost  the  sense  of 

each  wild  thing's  reason ; 
The  wilderness  kept  its  secret,  but  gave  of  its  dearth 

and  pain : 
Yet  I  hid  in  the  hills,  in  my  fear  of  the  king,  till  there 

came  that  desolate  season 

When  the  flocks  go  down  to  the  lowlands ;  then  I  too 
fled  to  the  plain. 

I  had  fled  like  a  hare  from  the  whim  of  a  king ;   I  had 

bent  like  a  reed  to  his  passion : 
He  who   rests   from   endeavor,   though  just,  grows 

unjust ;   though  right,  lives  a  lie. 
So  I  bend  no  more,  flee  no  more  from  him ;  but  strong 

in  the  right  of  my  soul,  I  will  fashion 
Some  shield  to  withstand  his  arrow  and  sword ;  and 
win,  though  I  die. 


THE   MESSENGER 

WITH  God's  grace,  whence  all  mercies  spring, 
The  duke's  young  minstrel  said  that  he 

Would  bear  a  message  to  the  king. 
The  men-at-arms  jeered  openly, 

But  those  who  knew  the  merry  lad 

Grew  grave,  thinking  him  famine-mad. 

But  said  the  duke :  "  Who  goes  will  die, 
And  he  will  die  who  stays ;  so  go," 

And  put  the  pictured  arras  by, 

And  passed  in  silence  with  his  woe. 

But  loud  the  minstrel  laughed,  and  said : 
"  The  road  is  short  unto  the  dead." 

Theirs  was  a  wild  and  bare  domain, 
And  neighbor  to  the  barren  shore : 

There  wheeled  the  gull  above  the  plain, 
And  hemlocks  mocked  the  salt  sea's  roar  ; 

Ever  the  fog  came  trooping  in 

The  parched  and  whitened  fields  to  win. 


122  THE  MESSENGER 

So  flat  the  realm,  one  scarce  could  say 
Where  land  left  off  and  sea  began. 

Through  all  a  slow  stream  wound  its  way, 
And  mile  on  mile  the  marshes  ran 

North,  west,  and  south ;  but  in  the  east 

The  sea  droned  ever  like  a  priest. 

One  would  have  called  it  all  too  bare 
To  tempt  marauders :  cattle  throve, 

But  like  rank  weeds,  without  a  care ; 
A  few  sheep  fed,  a  scraggy  drove ; 

A  few  nets  swung  upon  the  bay — 

And  over  all  the  duke  held  sway. 

Then  came  the  count :  why,  no  one  knew. 

Some  said  their  duchess  was  too  fair, 
And  some,  their  old  lord  haply  flew 

His  petted  falcon  everywhere, 
Which  vexed  the  count.     But  there  he  came, 
And  threatened  them  with  sword  and  flame. 

All  June  he  stormed  against  their  walls ; 

With  blood  their  rose-trees  blossomed  red ; 
Their  bravest  lay  upon  the  palls, 

With  dirge  unsung  and  mass  unsaid : 
For  priests  and  choir,  to  archers  grown, 
Among  the  dead  were  thickly  strown. 


THE  MESSENGER 


123 


Their  arrows  gone,  their  children  wrought 
Stout  bolts,  and  sharpened  them  in  flame ; 

Their  wives  beside  them  grimly  fought ; 

Their  bowstrings  frayed,  their  maidens  came, 

And  sitting  on  the  ramparts,  there 

They  braided  bowstrings  of  their  hair. 

Hourly  some  famine-maddened  one 

Leaped  screaming  from  the  walls  and  died ; 

All  day  the  duke  sat  in  the  sun, 

Moving  his  head  from  side  to  side ; 

He  heard  the 'death-watch  tick  at  noon, 

And  hounds  go  whimpering  at  the  moon. 

Then  came  that  last  despairing  night : 
The  minstrel  sauntered  forth  to  ride ; 

He  gaily  mounted  for  his  flight  ; 

They  flung  the  creaking  postern  wide, 

And  silent  watched  his  fair  face  loom 

An  instant  on  the  outer  gloom. 

The  count's  wild  crew  at  supper  lay 

All  weaponless  along  his  path. 
Some  stumbled  out  to  block  his  way, 

While  others  cursed  in  helpless  wrath ; 
But  turning  in  his  saddle,  he 
Mocked  at  them  all  in  jeering  glee. 


124  THE  MESSENGER 

Fresh  from  the  siege  behind  grim  walls, 
He  faced  the  windy  road  with  joy ; 

He  heard  a  night-bird's  strident  calls, 
And  answered  like  a  happy  boy, 

Glad  just  to  be  in  open  air, 

With  God's  soft  twilight  everywhere. 

And  oh,  the  rhythmic  thud  of  feet 

Of  his  roan  steed,  his  shoulders'  thrust, 

Making  the  sense  of  joy  complete ; 
The  curling,  coiling  clouds  of  dust, 

That,  drifting  rearward  gray  and  wan, 

Made  all  his  past  oblivion! 

Fair  towns  beyond  those  dolorous  glades 
And  bustling  courtyards  lured  him  now : 

He  heard  in  dreams  the  praise  of  maids, 
And  felt  the  laurel  on  his  brow ; 

And  saw  the  people  round  him  throng, 

Who  rode  through  death  to  mend  a  wrong. 

A  murmur  reached  him  while  he  dreamed, 
Like  puffs  of  wind  before  a  rain, 

As  all  his  fierce  pursuers  streamed 
Behind  him  in  a  straggling  train. 

It  grew  until  the  very  ground 

To  him  seemed  tremulous  with  sound. 


THE  MESSENGER  125 

Then  arrows  sped  about  him :  some 

Dropped  in  the  grass  like  meadow-larks ; 

And  some  flew  past  with  spiteful  hum 
Of  angry  bees ;  while  two,  like  sparks, 

Stung  through  the  covering  of  his  arm, 

But  clung  there  lightly,  without  harm. 

He  saw  the  starved  beast  he  bestrode 

111  matched  those  of  the  count's  wild  men, 

So  turned  him  sharply  from  the  road 
Along  the  blind  ways  of  the  fen. 

All  winter  he  had  wandered  there 

With  falcon,  hunting  crane  and  hare. 

It  was  a  swart  and  gruesome  place, 
Where  nothing  seemed  to  him  aright : 

Each  still  pool  was  a  dead  man's  face ; 
The  pallid  sky  was  void  of  light ; 

And  where  the  wind  went  through  the  flags 

A  gibbering  witch  danced  in  her  rags. 

He  saw  slow  water-creatures  rise 

From  out  the  wrinkling  pools,  and  glare 

At  him  with  cold,  unmoving  eyes. 

There  seemed  but  venom  in  that  stare,    • 

As  if  they  knew  his  end,  and  came 

Unhurrying,  to  view  his  shame. 


126  THE  MESSENGER 

A  fog  had  blotted  out  the  sky 
And  all  the  dear,  familiar  stars. 

Like  one  who  knows  the  world  is  nigh, 
Yet  sees  naught  through  his  prison-bars, 

He  heard  his  foemen  press  around, 

And  all  the  marsh  astir  with  sound. 

He  heard  them  strive  to  follow  him : 
Some  gained,  but  most  went  wandering 

Through  dank  morasses  stark  and  grim ; 
He  heard  their  neighing  horses  spring 

Through  splashing  reaches  to  their  doom ; 

He  heard  them  calling  from  the  tomb. 

Such  shadows  sprang  athwart  the  place, 
He  knew  not  foe  from  shadow ;  one, 

Trembling,  he  thrust  fair  in  the  face, 
And  though  he  felt  his  good  sword  run, 

Unchecked,  untouched,  a  full  yard  by, 

He  paused,  expectant  of  a  cry. 

He  knew  not  when  their  shouting  ceased, 
But  suddenly  became  aware 

Of  utter  hush,  wherein  his  beast 

Dragged  sucking  hoofs  across  that  lair 

Of  water-rat  and  newt.     Something, 

Lost  soul  or  bat,  went  by  awing. 


THE  MESSENGER  127 

His  path  lost,  glad  to  end  his  woe 
And  that  sick  silence  holding  him, 

He  yearned  to  see  some  valiant  foe 
Come  looming  on  the  night's  dun  rim, 

To  end  all  with  one  generous  thrust, 

And  leave  him  sleeping  with  the  just. 

Glad  if  he  there  might  stand  at  bay, 

With  all  his  foemen  set  around, 
Boldly  he  took  his  valorous  way. 

What  was  that  sibilant,  low  sound? 
Was  it  their  leader's  cautious  "  Hist ! " 
Or  serpent's  anger,  having  missed? 

The  sprawling  legs  and  drooping  head 
Of  his  tired  steed  enraged  him  so, 

That,  all  his  pity  being  dead, 

He  struck  him  many  a  cruel  blow. 

As  well  expect  song  from  dead  lark, 

Or  color  from  the  rose  at  dark. 

He  might  have  been  a  smitten  rock 

For  any  feeling  he  had  shown. 
It  came  upon  him  with  a  shock — 

This  was  the  petty  end,  alone 
With  this  spent  creature,  past  desire, 
Past  dread,  past  pain,  a  burnt-out  fire. 


128  THE  MESSENGER 

Burning  to  leave  the  place,  he  gave 
No  backward  look  unto  his  steed's 

Shut  eyes  and  heaving  flanks,  but  clave 
The  breast-high  ranks  of  hostile  reeds. 

No  creature  rustled  through  the  grass ; 

Even  the  wind  had  ceased  to  pass. 

Then  hungering  for  companionship, 
He  longed  to  meet  some  living  thing, 

Even  to  see  some  wild  brute  slip 
Beside  him  there,  or  fiercely  spring 

To  blot  him  out.     It  grew  a  hope 

That  with  such  creature  he  might  cope. 


It  came  to  be  his  only  care 

To  win  his  faithful  steed  and  die, 

Cold  cheek  by  jowl  beside  him  there. 
In  vain  :   no  path  could  he  descry ; 

The  tangled  grass,  glad  to  assail 

The  poor  lost  creature,  left  no  trail. 

Then  quicksands  seized  him,  like  a  thing 
Half  human,  but  without  a  breath 

Of  human  pity.     Mad  to  spring 
Beyond  that  clutch  of  sordid  death, 


THE  MESSENGER 

He  screamed,  writhed,  prayed,  cursed  God, 

and  wept: 
The  sullen  sands  their  grim  hold  kept. 

This,  then,  the  end  of  his  desire 
Of  winning  glory  and  renown ! 

His  heart,  in  impotent,  vain  fire, 

Deemed  it  of  all  his  woe  the  crown — 

To  sink  in  silence  in  this  glade, 

Just  to  enrich  a  lizard's  shade. 

To  be  bereft  of  all  his  sky 

And  peaceful  burial  in  the  sun, 

Where  men  might  come,  and  softly  sigh, 
And  speak  of  all  his  glory  won — 

He  whitened  as  the  grim  thought  came 

To  pierce  his  tortured  heart  with  flame. 

Then  rain  fell,  little  spiteful  flings 
Out  of  an  impotent,  mean  heart. 

There  seemed  mere  malice  in  its  stings, 
As  one  might  throw  a  headless  dart 

Into  a  dead  foe,  after  fight, 

When  all  his  friends  had  taken  flight. 


129 


130 


THE  MESSENGER 

Spent  with  his  frenzy,  hands  to  face, 
Down  to  the  sands  his  forehead  fell. 

How  long  he  brooded  in  the  place, 

With  mind  benumbed,  he  could  not  tell, 

But  looking  up,  about  to  die, 

He  heard  a  lark  sing  in  the  sky. 

He  heard  a  lark  sing  in  the  sky 

Above  the  slowly  whitening  east. 
It  seemed  God's  message  from  on  high, 

Better  than  book  or  bell  or  priest. 
"  Not  what  the  lark  does,  but  aspires, 
Crowns  it,"  he  said;   "  so  my  desires. 

"  The  body  is  but  potter's  clay, 

A  blow  may  shatter  into  dust. 
It  passes  in  a  little  day ; 

But  soul  stays  soul :  therefore  I  trust. 
The  man  that  I  have  tried  to  be 
Not  even  God  can  take  from  me." 


CHIVALRY 

Low  as  my  lady's  state  is  high, 

I  lead  a  life  apart, 
Yet  hopeless  love  has  lifted  me 

Up  to  her  lonely  heart. 

A  bow-shot  from  her  battlements 

There  winds  our  quiet  lane ; 
Beyond  its  dusty  hedge  a  stream 

Slips  through  the  grassy  plain. 

A  wild  wind  races  through  the  land 

And  rocks  each  gnarly  tree ; 
Here  wheels  the  gull,  here  sweeps  the  brine, 

Here  booms  the  distant  sea. 

Betimes  a  village  maid  trips  past, 

Or  hooded  friars  nod, 
Dreaming,  on  ambling  mules,  of  ways 

That  their  dear  Lord  had  trod. 


132  CHIVALRY 

With  helm  unlaced,  at  times  a  knight 
Rides  through  the  languid  noon : 

As  God  has  granted  wish  of  mine, 
Grant  he  each  fair  knight's  boon ! 

Yet  I  have  asked  no  more  than  this, 

That  I  may  daily  hear 
Along  our  lonely  countryside 

Her  rein-bells  jingling  clear ; 

And  nightly  in  her  casement  see 

Her  candle  shine  afar, 
When  through  the  mist,  athwart  mine  eyes, 

It  glimmers  like  a  star. 

Joy  has  no  wings  for  me ;  no  grief 

Can  plunge  me  in  despair: 
I  keep  the  level  ways  of  those 

Who  pray,  yet  need  not  prayer. 


ULYSSES   GROWN    OLD 

His  windows  open  to  the  sun, 

And  all  his  house  is  warm  and  sweet 

With  April,  yet  such  strange  chills  run 
Through  his  shrunk  form  and  palsied  feet 

He  thinks  that  winter  has  begun. 

All  day  the  far  seas  beckon  him, 

The  hollow  waves  roar  round  his  isle ; 

But  he  who  longed  to  pass  the  rim 
Of  all  the  known,  content  the  while, 

Sits  in  a  corner  cramped  and  dim. 

Betimes  his  vacant  features  shine 

As  some  faint  murmur  from  the  shore, 

Or  whiff  from  off  the  blowing  brine, 
Stirs  his  lost  thoughts ;  a  moment  more 

Four  walls  make  his  horizon-line. 


134 


ULYSSES  GROWN  OLD 

He  has  no  memory  of  the  past ; 

He  recks  him  not  of  time  to  come; 
Child-eyed  he  wonders  at  the  blast, 

Or  cowers  when  the  wild  bees  hum 
And  darting  birds  their  shadows  cast. 

Careless  of  how  the  days  are  sped, 
His  mind  is  like  a  palace  wan, 

With  ghostly  talk  between  the  dead, 
Where  one  dim  candle  flickers  on, 

And  all  the  happy  guests  have  fled. 


ROMANCE 

AGAIN  my  king  would  sail  away, 
Because  the  land  was  tame, 

And  foes  there  met  were  wisps  of  hay 
Unto  his  heart  of  flame. 

All  day  from  his  high  lattices 
He  watched  the  tumbling  sea : 

The  maidens  of  the  sculleries 
Went  down  the  lanes  in  glee ; 

The  young  brown  reapers  lolled  afield ; 

The  cattle  stood  in  stall ; 
The  watchman  slept  beneath  his  shield, 

Upon  the  sunlit  wall. 

The  princess  and  a  page  between 
The  ranks  where  lilies  flower, 

Leaning  below  the  lilies'  screen, 
With  kisses  marked  the  hour. 
135 


ROMANCE 

Yet  heedless  from  his  lattices 
The  king  still  looked  without : 

The  north  wind  blowing  in  the  trees 
Was  like  a  battle-shout ; 

Betimes  he  thought  the  leafy  lane 
Broke  white  before  the  blast ; 

Betimes  a  gull's  wing  in  the  rain 
Seemed  like  a  slanting  mast. 

He  rose  and  passed  the  seneschal, 
Who  followed  in  a  dream 

And  let  the  unseen  beakers  fall 
And  let  the  wine-butts  stream. 


He  led  his  comrades  to  the  sand. 

Eager  and  old  as  he, 
They  launched  their  bark,  and  left  the  land 

In  sweet  discovery. 

Seaward  they  drove :  the  roaring  main 

Leaped  up  to  meet  the  rail ; 
Loud  shrilled  the  blast,  loud  rang  the  rain 

Upon  the  windy  sail. 


ROMANCE 

And  seething  waves  joined  in  the  race ; 

Like  horses  wild  with  pain, 
They  set  the  ship  a  madman's  pace 

And  shook  each  whitened  mane. 


Where  broke  the  tall  wave-crests  of  green 

They  saw  their  old  gods  go ; 
To  them  the  hidden  was  the  seen, 

And  one  were  weal  and  woe. 

The  vaporous  coasts  they  ever  fled, 
The  purple  isles  they  passed ; 

Dearer  to  them  the  way  that  led 
Into  the  stinging  blast. 

And  dear  the  black  flaws  on  the  lee, 

And  dear  the  sleeted  rain ; 
For  them  the  wide,  mysterious  sea 

Was  still  their  best  domain. 


THE   JOURNEY 

Ax  night,  when  myrtle  bells  aswing 
Fill  the  bare  places  round  the  spring 
With  ghostly  whispers,  and  the  moon 
Makes  midnight  like  a  ghostly  noon ; 

When  even  flitter-mice  are  still ; 
Then  little  folk  troop  down  the  hill 
Into  the  gardens  poets  keep 
Hard  by  the  pleasant  town  of  Sleep. 

Their  torches  flare ;  their  dance  is  set 
Between  five  stalks  of  mignonette. 
Then  armed  gallants  click  the  heel 
And  bow  to  dames  who  wait  the  reel. 

Such  dames!      There  has  not  been  such  grace 
Since  all  the  wood-nymphs  left  the  place : 
They  courtesy,  pause,  and  circle  round 
Upon  the  sward,  yet  make  no  sound. 
138 


THE  JOURNEY 

Long  since  I  quite  forgot  to  dance, 
I  have  no  need  for  sword  or  lance, 
But  I  would  follow  close  at  hand 
When  they  set  out  for  fairy-land. 

No  doubt  it  is  a  tiresome  flight : 
The  path  runs  up,  there  is  no  light, 
And  on  sheer  heights  one  hears  the  beat 
Of  water  far  beneath  his  feet. 

And  in  still  valleys  dark  and  dim 
He  hears  his  own  voice  calling  him ; 
And  his  own  shadow  is  a  flame 
That  passes  back  the  road  he  came. 


Once  there,  I  'm  sure  I  'd  find  good  cheer,- 

Indeed,  I  might  remain  a  year, — 

And  haply  I  might  learn  to  know 

If  some  strange  things  we  hear  are  so. 

I  'd  like  to  know  if  it  be  true 

Of  Cinderella's  coach  and  shoe ; 

If  sly  Queen  Mab  yet  mends  her  ways ; 

And  where  the  fair  Kilmeny  strays. 


139 


140  THE  JOURNEY 

I  'd  sit  with  Merlin  in  his  ring, 

And  listen  to  the  talking  spring ; 

Or  hear  the  magic-throated  bird 

Sing  round  the  pool  that  Kynon  stirred. 

I  have  not  seen  them  yet, — have  you? — 
But  some  night,  through  the  falling  dew, 
We  '11  leave  the  pleasant  town  of  Sleep 
And  deftly  on  the  dancers  creep. 


IN    EXILE 

SOME  day  I  may  retake  the  road 

To  dreamland's  sweet  oblivion, 
Though  now  I  keep  my  bare  abode 

In  streets  my  late  companions  shun. 

To  nooks  below  the  greenwood  tree 
They  call  and  call ;  in  sweet  disguise 

Of  bloom  and  song  they  beckon  me, 
And  lure  me  in  each  maiden's  eyes. 

But  nights  they  leave  their  haunts  and  throng 
About  me.     When  my  tasks  are  done — 

Some  day — I  '11  put  them  into  song, 
And  find  my  happy  country  won. 


IN   THE  SOUTH 

Felix.  Turn  from  me,  dear,  that  I  may  see  your  fao 
As  first  I  saw  it  on  that  day  in  spring 
When  we  began  this  tangled  web  of  ours. 
No ;  just  a  little  farther— so ;  that  's  it ; 
And  lift  your  eyes  up  to  that  red-tiled  roof 
Where  sit  the  pigeons  dozing  in  the  sun. 
Ah,  that  is  right ;  and  there  's  the  grave  half-smile 
That  curves  the  left  half  of  your  perfect  lips 
Above  their  fellow-half,  all  tenderness. 
That  was  the  sweet  irregularity 
That  won  my  second  look,  and  so  won  me, 
That  day,  when,  coming  from  the  fishing-fleet, 
I  first  saw  you,  and  dreamed  that  life  began. 
Stay!      Do  not  move  yet!      Let  me  drink  it  in — 
The  round,  slim  throat,  browned  by  our  Southern  sun, 
The  dark  hair  falling  to  the  half-shut  eyes, 
That   seemed   deep   pools  where   Truth   might   dwell 

within ; 

142 


IN  THE  SOUTH  I43 

The  small,  round  chin,  full-tilted  in  its  pride ; 
And  all  the  fair,  indubitable  grace 
Of  your  slim  presence  dawning  full  on  me, 
As  day  breaks  with  us  out  of  sudden  night. 

Adrienne.  I  know  the  day.     I  thought  you  overbold, 
And  flushed  a  little,  and  then  slowly  smiled, 
Seeing  you  saw  me,  and  yet  saw  me  not. 

Felix.  Ah,  that  is  true.     I  thought  I  saw  your  soul 
Glow  in  the  doubtful  beauty  of  your  face  — 
A  water-lily  on  the  half-seen  pool. 
Yes,  that  I  cling  to :  it  was  first  your  soul 
That  drew  me  to  you ;  it  was  pure  and  white  — 
Like  moonlight  shining  on  the  waterways, 
Like  day  when  it  first  breaks  a  flower  of  flame 
Above  the  cool  hills  where  God  sits  enthroned, 
Like  heaven  itself — all  that  your  soul  was  like. 
And  then  I  woke  to  all  your  beauty,  dear — 
Eyes,  lips,  and  face — that  perfect  face  that  seemed 
Kin  to  the  lilies  that  our  young  girls  bear 
To  their  strange  first  communion  in  the  spring. 
Then  you,  you  grew  my  sun,  my  stars,  my  all, 
A  lamp  to  light  my  hastening  footsteps  home, 
My  dream  of  heaven  and  my  last  thought  at  night, 
The  thought  that  marked  the  coming  of  each  day. 


144  IN  THE  SOUTH 

Adrienne.  I  know  you  said  such  things  to  me  that  I 
Grew  vexed  at  first,  and  sometimes  half  afraid. 
And  Marie  waited  for  you ;  she  should  hear 
The  things  you  said :   I  had  no  right  to  know. 

:T  Felix.  Oh,  Marie,  Marie!      Why  now  use  that  foil 
To  parry  words  that  I  must  say  to  you  ? 
We  never  loved ;  she  was  my  friend,  and  I 
Less  than  a  brother,  little  more  than  friend 
One  meets  with  smiles,  and  passes,  and  forgets. 

Adrienne.  It  was  not  right  to  love  you,  thinking  she— 

Felix.  Ah,  what  is  right  to  love?     Love  is  a  tide 
That  sweeps  us  on  through  strange  abysmal  deeps, 
Sight,  feeling,  soul  all  lost  in  that  one  sense, 
Half  agony,  half  joy,  of  being  borne 
All  unresisting  by  resistless  force. 
I  had  the  right  to  love  you,  as  my  soul 
Aspired  to  heaven,  as  plants  turn  to  the  sun, 
As  little  rivers  run  into  the  sea : 
I  loved  you  with  the  hopes,  joys,  fears,  desires 
Of  all  my  future  woven  into  dreams. 
I  loved  you  purely,  as  men  kneel  to  pray ; 
I  loved  you  humbly,  as  they  talk  with  God ; 
I  loved  you  with  the  strength  of  steadfast  things— 


IN  THE  SOUTH  145 

Rocks,  mountains,  seas,  and  the  serene,  high  stars ; 
I  loved  you,  and  shall  love  you  till  I  die. 

Adrienne.  Oh,  you  are  true!     I  know  that  you  are 

good, 
And  all  my  heart  is  torn — 

Felix.  But  not  with  love. 

You  seemed  to  give  what  you  gave  not  at  alL 
Oh,  you  who  mask  all  your  indifference 
Under  shy  speech  and  gentle,  intimate  ways, 
The  heart  of  sorrow  follows  after  you, 
And  through  the  guarded  nunnery  of  your  soul 
Strange  ghosts  must  walk  at  times  to  vex  your  peace. 
God  rights  us  in  the  end,  and  gives  to  you 
No  skill  in  judging  men.     Oh,  you  shall  find 
Your  love  grown  loveless,  and  how  hard  the  road 
That  burns  beneath  the  feet  of  the  deceived! 

Adrienne.  Oh,  you  are  cruel,  cruel!      I  was  cold, 
And  told  you  so.     I  said  I  had  no  heart. 

Felix.  You  said  you  had  no  heart,  yet  showed  your 

heart. 

You  know  the  time  they  thought  our  boats  were  lost, 
But  I  came  to  you  through  the  streaming  rain, 
10 


146  IN  THE  SOUTH 

And  found  you  standing  by  the  sounding  shore, 
Your  wet  gown  blown  about  you  and  your  eyes 
All  dark  with  straining  through  the  windy  dusk. 
You  breathed  a  little  sob,  and  your  white  hands 
Leaped  up  to  me,  as  all  your  body  did. 
You  loved  me  then,  oh,  say  you  loved  me  then ! 

Adrienne.  I  do  not  know.     I  know  that  I  was  glad 
Who  had  been  frightened.     It  was  pitiful 
That  all  should  go  into  the  hungry  sea, 
That  takes  so  many  from  us,  young  and  old. 
Oh,  do  not  ask  me,  for  I  cannot  tell! 

Felix.  You  know  the  day  that  we  went  down  the  road  - 
The  white  road  past  Les  Martiques  to  the  coast, 
And  sat  upon  the  sands  all  afternoon, 
And  watched  the  fishing-boats  turn  dark  or  white, 
Like  wind-blown  flowers,  as  they  tacked  in  the  sun. 
The  mistral  blew  and  blew,  and  white  spray  leaped 
To  rainbow-blooms  from  every  toppling  wave ; 
The  surf  made  pleasant  music  to  your  speech — 
Shy,  doubtful  speech  that  seemed  to  tell  me  all. 
I  took  your  hand ;  you  did  not  seem  to  know, 
Or  did  not  mind — which  was  it,  dear?     For  me 
Life  brimmed  with  joy  that  day  alone  with  you 
Beside  the  sounding  sea.     We  go  there  now. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  147 

Adrienne.  I  cannot  go.     My  mother  waits  for  me. 
To-morrow  is  a  feast-day,  as  you  know, 
And  I  have  much  to  do.     I  cannot  go. 

Felix.  To-morrow  is  to-morrow ;  this,  to-day. 
See  how  the  road  is  white,  as  it  was  then ; 
The  mistral  blows  again,  as  on  that  day ; 
The  orchards  are  in  bloom.     It  hurts  my  heart 
To  see  them  make  such  show  of  joyousness : 
The  world  should  be  in  gloom,  to  match  my  thoughts. 
The  sea  is  better — moans  with  broken  heart. 
That  's  like  the  true  sea :  it  meets  every  mood ; 
Oh,  there  will  be  no  rainbow-blooms  to-day. 

Adrienne.  I  cannot  go ;   I  hate  this  barren  place. 

Felix.  We  '11  go  upon  the  sea,  then.     Here  's  a  boat, 
Small,  it  is  true,  and  mean,  but  well  enough 
For  placid  waters,  and  this  last  sad  time. 
And  I  will  row  you  out,  and  laugh,  and  talk 
Of  trivial  things,  and  feign  that  we  again 
Live  only  in  each  other's  hearts  and  eyes. 
One  lock  of  your  dark  hair  has  fallen,  dear, 
Over  your  rounded  cheek.     Brush  it  away. 
I  'd  have  no  curtain  'twixt  me  and  my  heaven. 


148  IN  THE  SOUTH 

Adrienne.  I  came  against  my  wish.   The  wind  is  cold 
The  sea  is  dolorous ;  I  would  return. 
I  like  not  dismal  places,  dismal  things. 
There  's  nothing  here  but  sand  and  sea  and  sea ; 
But  over  there  the  town  lies,  and  it  laughs ; 
And  I  might  sit  within  my  mother's  court 
And  hear  the  people  passing  in  the  street — 
The  happy  people  who  break  not  their  hearts. 

Felix.  Oh,  you  are  cruel,  as  all  women  are, 
And  doubly  so  to  those  who  love  in  vain. 
They  pour  their  hearts  out  for  you,  cherish  you, 
And  then,  some  day,  grown  weary  of  it  all, 
You  drop  your  mask,  and  all  is  at  an  end. 
Oh,  I  have  loved  you!      Say  it  is  a  dream 
That  you  can  never  love  me  in  return, 
And  that  your  eyes,  fair  stars  of  tenderness, 
Will  never  light  me  home,  your  perfect  lips 
Whisper  to  me  in  silver  iterance 
The  changeless  words  that  happy  lovers  hear. 

Adrienne.  I  cannot  love  you ;  it  is  all  in  vain. 

Felix.  Oh,  you — you  are  so  little,  yet  so  hard! 
So  tender,  yet  unyielding!      See  these  hands, 
All  brown  and  sinewy  from  the  Mother  Sea, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  !49 

How  easily  might  I  crush  out  your  life, 

And  leave  you  white  and  soulless  on  the  sands, 

No  more  to  be  a  snare  unto  the  heart. 

But  you  will  trip  back  through  the  hot  sunshine, 

Into  the  pleasant  town,  and  chat  and  laugh, 

And  sit  within  your  mother's  court,  and  dream 

Of  other  lovers  who  will  follow  me, 

And  match  their  tenderness  with  tender  eyes. 

I  cannot  bear  it ;   I  had  rather  go 

Into  the  dark  vault  where  the  damned  go  hushed 

With  bent  brows  brooding  on  unending  woes, 

Lacking  the  comfort  both  to  hear  and  tell, 

Since  sympathy  died  in  them  at  the  door. 

Adrienne.  Oh,  you  would  be  a  coward,  then,  and 

take 

The  life  God  gave  you  for  a  little  thing 
Who  did  not  know  her  own  heart!      Oh,  be  brave! 
No  day  yet  closed  because  a  woman's  eyes 
Shone  not  with  love,  or  that  her  happy  feet 
Went  ever  up  and  down  another's  stairs. 

Felix,  Oh,  you  would  taunt  me  thus  who  gave  you  all, 
And  cast  my  love  beneath  your  feet,  and  boast 
That  you  will  travel  on  another's  stairs! 
It  shall  not  be!      Rather  I  'd  take  your  hand, 


l-o  IN  THE  SOUTH 

<J 

And  lead  you  down  to  dark  oblivion. 

See  where  the  far  town  drowses  in  its  peace, 

And  meadows  bask  in  light.     The  radiant  blue 

Of  sea  and  sky  shall  change  not,  though  you  're  dead, 

And  all  the  sea  be  blue  above  your  grave. 

Look  to  them  all,  and  come  to  other  dreams. 

In  far,  strange  fields  of  dolor  you  and  I 

Shall  wander  henceforth  like  a  driven,  cloud, 

Blown  by  the  winds  of  dark  regret  and  woe. 

Yet  had  I  rather  go  through  hell  with  you 

Than  roam  alone  the  fields  of  paradise. 

Some  flame  from  my  great  passion  yet  shall  burn 

The  barriers  of  your  vast  indifference, 

And  something  in  your  eyes  shall  wake  for  me 

And  make  hell  heaven.     Oh,  time  is  strong,  and  I 

Will  lavish  all  eternity  to  gain 

The  look  you  gave  me  once,  but  now  deny. 

Adrienne.  Oh,  pity  me!      I  am  too  young  to  sink 
In  endless  darkness  in  the  silly  sea. 
And  just  this  morning  I  was  also  glad 
And  sang  about  my  tasks.     Oh,  pity  me! 

Felix.  It  is  for  pity  I  would  have  you  go, 
Youth  on  your  brow  and  beauty  in  your  eyes. 
The  years  would  bow  you  to  the  Mother  Earth, 


IN  THE  SOUTH  !5! 

And  make  your  form  the  sport  of  every  pain, 
And  withered  like  an  apple  that  the  snow 
Finds  still  upon  the  bough.     Better  that  Death 
Should  make  your  grace  immortal,  and  in  hell 
Lost  souls  should  see  you  and  forget  their  woe. 

Adrienne.   Oh,  mock  me  not!      It  is  so  sweet  to  live. 
The  years  are  slow,  and  age  is  far  away. 
My  mother's  eyes  are  bright,  and  she  yet  laughs, 
And  she  is  old,  or  older  far  than  I. 
I  like  not  vexing  thoughts.     Yours  make  me  sad, 
With  reckoning  ever  with  the  wearing  years. 
You  said  you  loved  me  and  my  happy  eyes, 
Yet  see  them  now  all  tremulous  with  tears, 
And  dark  with  that  which  darkly  threatens  them. 
You  would  not  harm  me — you  who  loved  me  so. 
Oh,  say  you  would  not,  for  you  frighten  me! 

Felix.  For  mine  own  sake  I  would  not  lift  a  hand 
Against  you,  dear,  though  God  commanded  it. 
That  I  have  reaped  not  love,  but  only  scorn, 
Or  that  cool  look  of  yours  that  's  less  than  scorn, 
I  could  pass  by,  but  this  is  different. 
From  your  false  self  I  needs  must  save  yourself. 
You  loved  me  once,  I  know  you  loved  me  once, 
And  love  that  budded  here  shall  bloom  elsewhere, 


IN  THE  SOUTH 

In  hell,  perhaps ;  but  it  shall  surely  bloom. 

The  rose  will  not  turn  lily — not  with  love. 

Now  fickleness  has  tried  to  make  your  rose 

Into  a  lily.     Ah,  I  know  the  one 

Of  whom  you  dream  to  wear  upon  your  heart. 

I  saw  you  greet  him  in  the  market-place 

As  I  was  idling  there.     Oh,  such  a  look ! 

Eyes,  cheek,  and  brow  all  spoke  before  the  lips 

Could  utter  that  soft,  rolling  name  of  his. 

You  only  spoke  his  name  ?     What  need  of  more 

When  all  your  heart  leaped  to  your  lifted  eyes, 

And  love  upon  your  white  brow  seemed  impressed 

As  clear  as  if  God  stooped  to  write  it  there? 

God  stooped,  I  say?     No,  God  would  never  stoop 

To  write  a  lie  upon  a  woman's  face. 

My  rose  shall  bloom  yet,  little  matter  where. 

Now  it  may  be  that  in  some  other  world, 

When  we  two,  all  alone,  come  fresh  from  pain 

Of  fruitless  living,  coming  all  alone, 

And  sick  for  home,  through  our  own  loneliness 

May  feel  heart  leap  to  heart,  as  once  of  old, 

And  walk  through  fields  of  fair  forgetfulness. 

Oh,  love!  let  us  forget!      What  is  hell  for, 

And  all  these  faults  of  ours  that  harrow  us, 

But  just  to  be  the  stairs  by  which  we  rise? 

Come,  love,  we  mount! 


IN  THE  SOUTH 


'53 


Adrienne.  Oh,  take  me  to  my  home! 

My  mother  needs  me,  and  my  heart  is  sore 
With  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  to  be 
When  my  feet  go  not  in  and  out  her  door. 
She  loved  you  always,  thought  you  strong  and  brave ; 
Yet  you  would  fling  her  joy  unto  the  sea, 
That  she  shall  hear  moan  ever  at  her  gate, 
And  watching  while  I  come  not,  hear  my  sob 
Harrow  the  night  for  her  in  every  wind, 
And  move  along  the  shingle  with  each  wave. 
What  peace  in  heaven  or  hell  could  come  to  you, 
Knowing  she  thought  that  you  had  died  to  save 
What  you  had  slain?     Oh,  heavy  is  the  chain 
That  you  shall  drag  through  all  eternity ! 
My  face  beside  you  yet  shall  come  to  be 
Hell's  sharpest  sting,  that  you  would  fain  forget, 
Yet  cannot.     Take  me  home! 

Felix,  Oh,  say  no  more ! 

I  give  it  up — all.     You  shall  have  your  way. 
Your  face  a  sting?     I  know  not.     It  might  be. 
God  reaches  far  to  punish.     It  might  be 
Even  to  hell.     It  might  be.     I  know  not. 
But  sting!      Ah,  that  thought  brings  you  safely  home! 

Adrienne.   My  mother  trusted  you,  not  knowing  this ; 
But  I  shall  trust  you,  knowing,  all  my  days. 


154  IM  THE  SOUTH 

Felix.  I  heed  not  trust  or  distrust :   all  I  ask 
Is  now  to  be  forgotten  and  forget. 

Adrienne.  I  shall  forget  the  false  and  hold  the  true 
'T  was  madness,  and  not  you,  that  threatened  me. 

Felix.  What  I  have  thought  my  soul  cannot  deny ; 
What  dreamed,  though  unfulfilled,  is  still  the  soul: 
God  tests  the  balance  with  such  little  things. 

Adrienne.  Vex  not  yourself  with  any  ill  undone 
Or  wrong  frustrated :  good  is  good,  wrong,  wrong, 
And  men  through  both  mount  up  to  better  things. 
God  's  not  a  huckster  chaffering  for  men's  souls. 

Felix.   Now  may  I  mount  till  I  forget  the  past 
And  all  that  grace  of  yours  that  made  it  dear! 
Oh,  I  will  be  a  miser  with  my  love, 
And  hoard  my  thoughts,  and  live  on  meager  fare, 
Starving  my  heart  with  dear  vacuities! 
I  '11  meet  your  eyes  no  more,  nor  think  of  you, 
Or  think  but  harshly,  as  of  forsworn  things, 
And  steel  my  mood,  reiterating  wrongs. 
I  '11  live  love  down. 

Adrienne.  Then  I  am  well  content. 

But  now  why  row  so  furiously?     Am  I — 


IN  THE  SOUTH  155 

Felix.  I  would  that  I  were  home. 

Adrienne.  Your  face  is  white, 

The  sun  is  gone,  and  something  like  a  mist 
Blots  out  the  land  and  mingles  with  the  sea. 
Is  it  the  rain? 

Felix.        Yes,  wind  and  driving  rain. 

Adrienne.  Is  there  then  danger  that  you  whiten  so  ? 

Felix.  There  ever  is  with  women  and  the  sea. 

Adrienne.  Yet  men  have  loved  us  ever.     Something 

good 
Lies  in  these  sweet  and  dangerous  ways  of  ours. 

Felix.  Else  had  we  never  stayed  to  be  deceived. 

Adrienne.  Oh,   I  must  laugh  because  I  would  not 

weep ; 

There  's  dread  within  your  face  and  in  that  sound 
Like  far-off  horsemen  galloping  this  way. 
Oh,  I  would  hide  my  eyes,  yet  do  not  dare ; 
Cover  my  ears,  were  doubt  not  darker  still : 
The  darkened  silence  hides  more  fearsome  things 


156  IN  THE  SOUTH 

Than  this  gray  waste  and  this  strange,  ominous  sky. 

Look,  not  a  ripple  stirs  the  waiting  sea ; 

And  yet  I  thought  a  moment  since  I  felt 

A  puff  of  wind  blow  cool  across  my  face. 

Oh,  look,  oh,  see  how  that  white  wall  sweeps  down, 

And  all  the  air  is  clamorous  with  the  gale ! 

Felix.  The  storm  's  upon  us!      No — oh,  do  not  rise! 
Crouch  lower,  here,  and  I  will  hold  your  hands. 
We  're  in  God's  now,  and  can  but  wait  the  end. 

Adrienne.  The  end?    What  end?    Must  we  two  then 
now  die? 

Felix.  What  end?    God  knows;  but  you  must  surely 

live. 

Oh,  you  must  live  to  smile  this  venture  down, 
And  tell  your  children's  children  of  the  day 
One  stormed  your  peace  until  a  Greater's  storm 
Swept  him,  in  turn,  to  his  abiding  peace. 

Adrienne.  If  I  can  still  be  saved,  then  why  not  you? 

Felix.  The  sea  is  rising ;  soon  the  boat  will  fill 
And  turn  us  in  the  sea.     Before  I  go 
I  '11  bind  you  fast.     You  see  this  little  rope? 
That 's  your  brave  stair  to  lead  you  back  to  life. 


IN  THE  SOUTH  157 

Adrienne.  But  you — you  too  must  climb  with  me  to 

life. 

I  cannot  go  alone.     This  wild,  cold  sea — 
It  frightens  me.     Oh,  leave  me  not  alone ! 
With  you  near  me  I  might  be  almost  glad. 
See,  I  can  smile  a  little,  almost  laugh, 
Now  you  're  beside  me. 

Felix.  Dear,  I  cannot  stay. 

My  weight  would  drag  us  down.     A  changing  wind 
Or  passing  ship  will  bring  you  to  the  shore. 
Think  not  of  me ;  I  have  no  more  the  wish 
To  wander  up  and  down  our  streets  and  know 
The  people  smile  and  whisper  as  I  pass, 
And  that  it  irks  you  but  to  see  my  face 
Pass  like  a  cloud  across  your  happy  day. 
Do  dead  men  struggle  and  put  forth  their  power, 
And  sing  within  those  withered  hearts  of  theirs? 
Can  I  clasp  air,  and  live  upon  the  smile 
You  give  another?     No,  I  long  since  died, 
And  strength  has  passed  from  me,  and  all  desire. 

Adrienne.  But  see,  the  mists  rise.    Surely  that  is  land ! 

Felix.  Like   some    grim,    crouching    beast,   to    see 
my  end. 


I58  IN  THE  SOUTH 

Adrienne.  Rather    to    beckon    you    and    give    you 
strength. 

Felix.  The  far-off  happy  land  where  I  have  walked 
In  happy  dreams  of  you.     Oh,  it  is  well 
That  it  should  rise  again,  a  coast  of  dreams, 
For  I  shall  tread  its  unreal  paths  no  more. 

Adrienne.  No  dream,  but  real.     Now  the  storm  will 
pass. 

Felix.  See  that  cold  shimmer  on  the  distant  sea? 
That  's  wind  and  more  wind.     Worse  is  yet  to  come. 

Adrienne.  Not  worse,  but  better.     Take  my  hands 

again. 

I  '11  lift  you  into  life.     I  have  the  strength, 
And  we  shall  walk  together  all  our  days. 

Felix.  I  also  have  the  strength  to  say  you  no. 
Remember  this  of  me  in  days  to  come : 
He  might  have  touched  my  hands,  my  eyes,  my  lips, 
But  would  not ;  and  he  might  have  gained  my  love, 
Through  pity,  bartered  for  a  lonely  death, 
Yet  turned  away,  in  loneliness  to  die. 
Think  not  I  blame  you — not  for  one  small  thing. 


IN  THE   SOUTH 


159 


If  I  have  said  hard  things  and  cruel  things, 

That  's  but  the  man  in  me.     At  bottom  I 

Knew  you  were  blameless,  knew  that  you  were  wise. 

Like  some  tired  child,  far  from  its  mother's  arms, 

With  hands  that  grope  for  hers,  I  '11  sink  to  sleep. 

Adrienne.  But  you  will  try  my  little  stair  with  me? 
Felix.  No,  no ;  a  thousand  noes.     You  need  not  ask. 

Adrienne.  But  look !      The  coast  is  blotted  out  again ! 
Is  this  the  end? 

Felix.  I  fear  so!      Where  's  the  rope? 

Adrienne.  I  cast  it  in  the  sea! 

Felix.  You— you!      Oh,  lost! 

Adrienne.  Not  lost,  but  won.     I  take  the  stair  with 
you. 


